Heartless
by gkeeper91
Summary: When a beginning investigator is handed the daunting task of solving two unusual murders, he discovers that trailing a killer could lead to far more devastating consequences than death. After all, what could be worse than falling for the one person who may be the murderer you are hunting for? AU.
1. Part 1: The Case of the Heartless Boys

**Heartless**

**by: gkeeper91**

* * *

_Disclaimer: Kyou Kara Maou is not mine. _

_A/N: Damien was an original character who first appeared in my story 'Soul Hunters,' who, as the story progressed, developed something of a relationship with Saralegui. _

_Dedication: For __kerii-tan__, who gave me an excuse to write more about this pair, and who made the accompanying image used here as the book cover (Please see my profile for links to other images related to this story.)_

_Genre: AU, School Life, Fantasy, Mystery_

_Warnings: Slash. Gore. Dark Themes._

* * *

**Part One: The Case of the Heartless Boys**

**~o0o~**

In appearance and temperament, he was, quite simply, his mother's son.

He was stunning, for he had inherited that certain quality to his face that invariably drew people's attentions. He had eyes the exact color of sunlight, warm and radiant, with a strong coppery tint. For reasons that few could comprehend, he had taken the habit of wearing a pair of unframed, elliptical glasses, tinted with a lavender hue that sometimes gave his irises a bluish sheen.

His hair was of a similar shade as his eyes, and he normally wore it down, cascading into sun-drenched rivulets over his shoulders and down his back. His lips were almost always curved upward into a half-smile, but which, however, conveyed nothing of his thoughts. If he was happy or agitated or disappointed or mad, his face didn't show it. He was always smiling.

He was slightly-built, with a thin and willowy frame. He moved with the refinement of a monarch, but with the guarded grace of a predator in the midst a hunt. He did not have much physical strength, but what he lacked in power, he more than made up for in speed and agility. He was no athlete, but he could still beat the crap out of the other boys in his class in tennis.

He was often perceived as quiet but was actually the precise opposite of shy. Whenever he spoke, it was always with a tone of self-assurance that could easily be mistaken for conceit. Although he showed no outward signs of it, he was very ambitious and extremely cutthroat. He saw life as an endless competition, to which there was only losing and winning. There was no in-between. He hated losing.

By all measures of intelligence, he was deemed to be immensely gifted. He had a certain brand of shrewdness that translated very well within academic settings and in the outside world. At the tender age of fifteen, he had already started running the family business and had actually built quite a reputation for himself because of it. People in the know regarded him a genius.

He saw the world through a shroud of cynicism, and he was wont to distrust others from the very first sight. He was ruthless against his enemies but unusually attached to his subordinates. He did not have friends, and he saw no reason why he needed to. As far as anyone could tell, he had never been in love.

All things considered, one could say that he was heartless.

**~o0o~**

**I. Meeting**

**~o0o~**

It was the "Heartless Murders" that brought Damien Schwarz to Saint Rose, a journey that indubitably changed his life forever.

He hadn't been aiming for a life-altering event when he'd agreed to take the case. Far from it, the circumstances didn't even pique his curiosity. It was just that someone high up in the hierarchy decided that the case was right up his alley, and Damien didn't have the authority to refuse.

One frosty night in September, Damien accompanied his boss in a meeting with the client, in order to discuss the facts of the case as well as what needed to be done in terms of damage control. His superior – a well-dressed blond known to everyone by the simple moniker, Shinou – flashed him an ingratiating smile as soon as the client finished recounting the bizarre events that had taken place at Saint Rose.

Damien reviewed the facts inside his head. Saint Rose was a private boarding school located in an island somewhere off the coast of Scotland. It was there that two students had died, under circumstances that defied all logical explanations. Both bodies were found inside their rooms, atop their own beds, looking – as witnesses described – like they could only be sleeping. At first glance, the witnesses saw nothing peculiar about them, but at closer inspection, they discovered that the bodies were both hacked open at the chest and their hearts plucked out. The medical examiner noted the absence of blood or any physical trauma indicative of any form of struggle. The police had exhausted all leads. The locals blamed the forest nymph who would, according to legends, devour the heart of any mortal who would catch her fancy.

Simply put, there was absolutely nothing for them to build a case on.

The client was the school's elderly headmaster, who had flown all the way to the city to seek the help of what was considered as the best investigative agency in the country. Upon arrival, he had quickly gone through the details of the case, wringing his hands in distress and begging for an immediate and satisfactory resolution. It was a stain to the school's glorious reputation, the old man moaned. It was a disaster. And worst, it was only the beginning. The client had reason to believe that the murderer would strike again.

Bluntly put, it was a catastrophe that needed to be—

"—stopped!" the client finished the thought for him. "I implore you, sir!"

Damien found it rather awkward to be addressed so deferentially by someone who was nearly fifty years his senior, but then he realized that the man wasn't talking to him. The client's face was turned toward Shinou, giving no indication that he had even noticed Damien at all. Damien shrugged it off, already quite used to being overlooked.

Instead, Damien flipped through the folder on his hands, glancing over the contents. There were several photographs, a printed summary of events, and at the very end, a sharp reproduction of two small cardboard pieces the size of a regular calling card. Damien's gaze lingered on the last items.

The cards were apparently found at the scenes of the crime, near the bodies of the two victims. The first card, discovered at the bedside table of the first victim who was murdered three months ago, bore a simple inscription in bold letters that read, _MATTHEW_. The next card – taken from the window sill of the second victim who was killed just three weeks ago – bore a similar script, but a different word: _MARK_.

Matthew and Mark. Mark and Matthew.

"So what do you think?" Shinou asked, rousing Damien from his reverie. The client glanced at him for the first time.

"Those weren't their names," the old man offered, noticing Damien's preoccupation. "The—the victims' names weren't—oh—but you know, of course. You've read the file. Forgive me. It's just that this entire business is driving me—!"

"Belal and Ranjeel," Shinou said smoothly, forestalling the imminent gush of another litany, "The victims were not known by any other names, were they? No aliases?"

"None. They were just—"

"And no surnames either?"

"No. It is something of a cultural—"

Shinou interrupted once again, "They were related?"

The elderly man nodded wearily, pulling out a paper towel from the inside of his coat to wipe his sweaty forehead. "You might have heard of the Cimaron Group?"

"Of course," Shinou said. Then he beamed at Damien. "Have you, Damien?"

Damien nodded absently. Cimaron was a conglomeration of businesses that ran the gamut of all possible enterprise known to mankind – from money-lending to education, agriculture to flight services, information technology to the mass production of various goods. Established a hundred years ago by a migrant from parts unknown, the Cimaron group was now run by the founder's descendants – a myriad of families with varying amounts of shares in – and consequently, control of – the company. Its growth in recent years had spurred the company on to greater heights, capturing the eye of various investors all around the world. It had a good reputation overall – well except for the growing rumors of turmoil amongst the shareholders.

_'Progress begets greed,'_ Damien concluded wryly.

Damien returned his attention to the cards, turning to the back portion, where a series of characters were printed in a small, legible handwriting. Unlike the ones in the front however, the words proved to be a little more straightforward:

_THIS IS THE FIRST._

"Ah,"Shinou remarked, smiling in a self-satisfied manner, "A message. How quaint. Any guesses as to what was in the second card, Damien?"

"_'This is the second'_?" Damien deduced with an ironic gleam in his eye, turning to the next page and finding that he was right.

Shinou laughed, prompting the elderly man to heave a large sigh of frustration. "This isn't a laughing matter, gentlemen! It's obvious that there would be another murder!"

"That is a fair assumption," Shinou agreed. "After all, the cards did not say, _'This is the last'."_

It was difficult to tell whether he was being serious, but then Damien knew that his superior rarely was. That wasn't to say, however, that his boss was incompetent or unconcerned. Quite the opposite, Shinou was the most efficient and observant person Damien had ever known. The man's only fault, as far as Damien could tell, was the incapability to appear formal and sympathetic when the situation called for it – like now, for instance.

Shinou's matter-of-fact approach seemed to be agitating the client, and even if he wasn't looking at the man, Damien could sense an outburst waiting to happen. Damien fought down a derisive snort, but the slight sneer on his face must have still betrayed his disdain, for the client glared at him in indignation. Damien hastily rearranged his features into one of somber contemplation but the damage was already done. The headmaster looked ready to explode.

To Damien's relief, Shinou interposed before the client could detonate into a fit of rage. "But I see where you are coming from. I understand perfectly. Although…why did you not come to us immediately after the first victim died?"

The client deflated. "It's—that's—well, we wanted to keep this under wraps—you know, just among the family, but—" The man stopped abruptly, biting his lower lip.

"The family?" Shinou prodded, but the man was unwilling to give voice to his thoughts.

"That's—forget I said that," he mumbled after a moment.

Shinou was unfazed, and with a shrewd glint in his eyes, he said offhandedly, "So how is Chairman Ranjeel Senior's health nowadays? I daresay he finds the accommodations at Hotel Le Magnifique well to his liking?"

One could almost hear the proverbial pin drop in the silence that followed. The client's eyes had grown impossibly large and his jaw had dropped open in astonishment. Damien observed the exchange with interest. Ranjeel Senior was the current chairman of the Cimaron Group.

"I believe he was the one who instructed you to give this matter your undivided attention?"

"How on earth did you…?"

"My dear fellow," said Shinou with an idle flick of his hand, "a simple search of the names Belal and Ranjeel from the archives of Cimaron newsletters would reveal that they belonged to a prominent branch of the family—"

The words jolted the client back to his prior state of nervous agitation. "Prominent!" the man howled. "You don't understand! Belal was the son of the second largest shareholder in the Cimaron Group! And Ranjeel – the first-born male of the Chairman's first wife! They were both being groomed to run the company when the Chairman retires!"

"—and since the victims were potential heirs to a business empire," continued Shinou, as though there had been no interruption, "then of course one could count on the involvement of someone influential in the pursuit of closure for these cases. And if," – he glanced slyly at the client – "the Chairman's own brother comes a-calling to secure our services…"

The client turned pale. "You know me?"

"I recognized your face from old company photographs," Shinou explained with a slight dip of the head. "It said in the papers that you used to handle an entire division of the Group's operations but that you retired to pursue a career in education."

The headmaster nodded and gestured vaguely to himself. "Saint Rose was established with my money. Mine and the Chairman's."

"So if the Chairman's own brother has come personally, then it could be safely assumed that he does so at the pleasure of the current head of the company – and his dedication to his job, of course." Shinou leaned back with a smug grin and carried on, "And if the said man arrives here catching his breath, his coat and boots wet from the drizzle outside, then he would have perhaps arrived here by foot from somewhere nearby, and not staying here as he had earlier claimed. Of the various hotels in the vicinity, there are three that are frequented by prominent personalities who wish to move about with absolute anonymity. Hotel Le Magnifique is one of them, and judging from the monogram on the paper towel that you used to wipe your brow…" He waved his hand to indicate that the rest was self-explanatory.

"Of course," murmured the client, daunted. "How careless of me. But how did you find out that the Chairman is here, too?"

"I did not," Shinou answered. "I suspected, and you have so kindly confirmed it for me." His lips curled into a smirk. "But enlighten me – why all this secrecy? Why did you not just lay the facts out into the open? And why were you not so forthcoming with your identity?"

"I apologize," the client muttered, regarding Shinou with something akin to awe. "I was instructed to give as minimal information as possible…well, you understand how sensitive this matter is to the family. And besides, the Chairman wants you to examine the situation from a fresh perspective, with as much partiality as possible. Now I'm assured that I have come to the right person."

"Of course," said Shinou, giving Damien another furtive smile. Damien fidgeted on his seat. He had an ominous feeling that his superior was up to no good, and that whatever mischief the man was up to would be at Damien's expense.

The headmaster leaned forward eagerly. "So what do you make of this matter? Do you think someone from the company…?"

"I have yet to make any conclusions," Shinou replied airily, "although judging from the fact that you came to _us_, I could only assume that you have already ruled out all the…_human factors_?_"_

The client looked thoroughly disconcerted. He seemed suddenly afraid, and he clasped his hands together to prevent himself from shaking. Finally, he replied in a hesitant and cautious tone, "We…we've tried to eliminate as much…er…_factors_…as we could. But in the end, there are…"

"—things that could not be sufficiently explained?" Shinou suggested.

The client nodded.

"So who stands to run the company now that the two other heirs had passed away?"

The headmaster shuddered visibly. "There is someone, but I—I don't know," he said after a moment, "I—I am not in the position to make baseless accusations, gentlemen."

Damien would have liked to roll his eyes at that blatant cover-up, but he didn't want to tick off the client any more than he already did. Shinou remarked, "I take it that this is the only human factor that you have not done away with?"

The client nodded again, helplessly this time.

"And in addition, you believe that there are _non-human _factors involved here?"

The headmaster gave no indication of concurrence or disagreement, but his reaction was enough to corroborate that Shinou had already touched upon the heart of the issue. Damien glanced at his superior with grudging admiration.

"You can understand—if you have only seen the bodies up close—it was obvious that no human could—that's why we agreed that the police would never—" The client broke off, wringing his hands once again. Then he declared, banging his fists on the table and leaning closer toward Shinou, "But that was why I came to _you_. You have come highly recommended sir, and I firmly believe in your capability to solve this case!"

An awkward silence ensued, in which the client continued staring at Shinou, while Shinou turned a Cheshire-cat face toward Damien, and Damien looked on with growing discomfort at the two men in front of him. His eyes widened when he realized what sort of trick was lurking behind Shinou's playful expression, but the sound of protest that escaped his lips was quickly overpowered by his boss's laughter. Now he understood why Shinou insisted on the two of them going together to this meeting. The client, on the other hand, seemed confused at their reactions, genuinely unaware of what was about to happen.

It was Shinou who spoke next. "You must pardon me for the late introduction, but _this_" – he waved a hand in Damien's direction – "is Damien Schwarz. He will be handling this case. I was merely here to observe."

"_Him_?" the client spouted in bewilderment, eyeing Damien with unflattering incredulity. "But—but I—I mean—there must be a mistake—"

"I have worked with Damien for the past two years," Shinou said. "I can assure you that he is more than capable for this job."

That was a lie. Damien was the youngest in the agency and also the least experienced. From what he'd heard and read of the matter at hand, as well as all the mention of human and non-human factors involved, Damien knew that this would be a highly complicated case – something that he couldn't possibly solve unassisted.

The client seemed to have reached the same conclusion. "But what about you?"

"I," said Shinou with a completely straight face, "am otherwise engaged."

"But surely," the headmaster protested, unwilling to give up, "you must agree that this is a very complicated matter for a…a_ child _to undertake—?"

A child? Damien's eyes narrowed at the word. A child! That was uncalled for! Damien knew that his appearance didn't inspire much confidence from clients and colleagues alike, but all the same, couldn't the man be a little less vocal about his objection? It was embarrassing enough as it was!

"I'm eighteen," Damien said stiffly. "And I've had experience with these matters, sir."

"I'm not saying that—I mean—it's nothing personal—but—"

Damien could see the trap springing open to lure him in, but he couldn't stop himself regardless. His mouth opened to say the words that would ultimately catapult him past the point of no return.

"I can do this," Damien told the client. To Shinou, he said, "I will take the case then."

Shinou's mouth twisted with delight.

But the client wouldn't give up so easily. "Now see here—"

Shinou's eyes twinkled mischievously. "Damien will do," he cut in, this time, with a tone of finality. "And besides, his age would be perfect in this case. I dare say he would fit right in."

The man's eyes darted between Shinou and Damien with such speed that they resembled two ping pong balls being paddled back and forth at full power. "Wait," he said slowly, "…he would fit in where?"

Shinou grinned. "Saint Rose."

"You mean…" The headmaster choked on his words. "He's going to…?"

Shinou didn't bother to voice out the obvious, but the old man didn't seem willing to agree to what was being implied unless it was uttered aloud. When none gave any indication of broaching the topic, Damien cleared his throat and shattered the stalemate by asking, "So when am I supposed to enroll?"

No one answered. The headmaster's expression vacillated between disapproval and resignation. In the end, he nodded as if to acquiesce, but he still muttered doubtfully, "Are you sure this is necessary? Besides, Saint Rose is a highly private institution. Not everyone is allowed in—"

"And you will, of course, see to it that it would not be a problem," Shinou said.

"The investigation should be done with complete discretion. I couldn't be involved in this. The results would be reported straight to—"

"—the Chairman, am I correct?" finished Shinou, clapping his hands loudly. "That is settled then. Do you have any questions about the assignment, Damien?"

Damien stared at his superior and finally gave in to the impulse he had been repressing all night long. He rolled his eyes and made a disgusted face. The headmaster's misgivings heightened at this childish display, and he opened his mouth, perhaps to issue another objection. But Shinou flashed him a look, and the headmaster quickly wilted into a posture of compliance.

Shinou's grin was back, significantly broader than before. "Have fun, Damien."

Damien scowled. The client winced. Shinou's expression didn't change. And before the night was over, the illustrious Saint Rose Academy gained a new, albeit a very reluctant, student.

Needless to say, only one of the three people who met that September night to discuss the facts of the case was pleased with this decision.

**~o0o~**

**II. Stranger**

**~o0o~**

Damien arrived at Saint Rose three days after that meeting.

It was a few minutes shy of midnight when he drove his car up the snaking path leading to the school dormitory, attempting with little success to ignore the depressing scenery flashing by his window. He had half a mind to drop the case entirely and go back to the mainland, but the very idea of having more people dying because of his desertion was something that his conscience couldn't bear. He wished he could ignore it, but he knew that he would never be able to.

_WHOOSH!_

The wind was blowing harder the closer that Damien got to the dormitory. He grimaced, knowing at once that the weather would further aggravate his stay at this already hateful place. He loathed the gloom and doom vibe that the surroundings were giving him, and within a few minutes of driving, he had already sworn that he would never _ever_ return to this place again.

Near the end of the path, Damien was forced to a stop, finding himself facing an unforeseen obstacle. A large wrought-iron gate rose before him, like a dark, gigantic sentinel blocking the way to the school. It was locked – at least Damien could see a snake-like loop of chains linking the two parts of the gateway together. It seemed that the administrators of Saint Rose were intent in keeping unwanted people out – or keeping their rich, spoiled wards in, Damien concluded privately.

Damien got out and surveyed his surroundings. He was freezing, and while pondering how to resolve this unfortunate situation, he was reduced to inspecting the dormitory from outside. He could already see the building from his vantage point – a soaring, inhospitable-looking structure that would be his home for the next week or so. Less, if Damien could manage it. He had zero desire to spend more than that period of time in an isolated island, with nothing but a bunch of spoiled high schoolers for company.

Damien understood that being shipped into a boarding school was not uncommon for some people up at the pinnacle of society. Filthy rich personalities often rely on institutions like Saint Rose to dump unwanted children and keep them out of trouble until adulthood, by which time they would be plucked and unceremoniously shoved right into the harsh arena of the business world.

Most of the students of the school, Damien was told, were scions and heirs of well-known players in the commercial world, from the son of the president of an airline carrier to the lovechild of the CEO of a large chain of hotels. Damien was given a similar social status in order to justify his presence at the school, but modest enough not to draw attention. Damien had memorized the details of his new background, putting a few touches here and there just for form's sake, hoping that he wouldn't have to resort to any of the more outlandish lies in the course of his investigation.

Damien shifted his attention to the wide expanse of land that encompassed the dormitory. It was a mountainous area composed of hills and winding paths, the landscape meandering into a sloping part at the southern portion, eventually ending into a thick forest. That was the only spot of green amidst a sea of blue, as the entire island whittled down to a triangular sort of shape, cut down rather abruptly on most of its sides by steep cliffs. Damien couldn't see a beach.

_'Two murders in an isolated island_,_'_ Damien thought. _'Two locked room mysteries.' _A tall order by anyone's standards.

He was about to turn away when a flash of yellow amongst the green of the trees caught his eye. Something – or someone – appeared to be moving, approaching his current location at a steady pace. Damien squinted hard, finding that it was…a…a…

What was that? Damien's first impression – although he later realized that it was foolish – was that he was seeing the forest nymph mentioned in the local legends. At least he thought he saw a blond head and two large purple discs of light glinting at him from the shadows. A second later, Damien quickly rearranged his assumptions to factor in the things he saw next as the figure came nearer.

It wasn't a nymph, not any form of spirit. It wasn't even a girl.

It was a guy.

Damien regarded the sight with a puckered brow. Wasn't there supposed to be a curfew here? It was a little too late to be out, wasn't it? He stepped forward, curious despite himself. The boy seemed like he was just out for a stroll – there was no sense of urgency in his movements, and he walked with a deliberateness that suggested that he was in no particular hurry to get home, wherever his home was. The figure came closer, and as he did, Damien was finally able to see his face.

Try as he might, Damien couldn't forget that face for two different reasons. One, it was simply the strangest face he had ever seen in his life, that he was inclined to believe for a moment that the vision before him wasn't human. There was just something so unearthly about the way the boy's eyes shone in the darkness, and how his long blond hair flew in disarray around his face, making it seem so…so…_feral_. So…untamed. Then the figure took another step forward, and Damien realized that the boy was wearing glasses.

Damien was too caught up at the absurdity of his own imagination that he didn't immediately notice that something was amiss—

—which was the second reason. Damien blinked, and the sight before him transformed into something extraordinarily bizarre. The face he had been admiring was suddenly not unblemished, and before Damien's gaze, a smear of blood slowly presented itself, curling into a vague pattern over the unknown boy's cheeks, inching down to a portion of his neck. Damien immediately assumed that the boy was hurt, and he nearly shouted to catch the latter's attention. The warning died on his lips when the boy drew nearer, exposing a sight that was quite unlike anything Damien had ever seen in his entire life.

At the boy's chest, at the spot where his heart should have been, there was instead a large, gaping hole. Damien froze.

The boy must have spotted him right then, for he came to a halt and matched Damien's wary gaze with one of his own. The eyes that peered at Damien from behind the tinted glasses were a warm shade of amber, but the expression contained within them was as icy as the night.

For a moment, they did nothing but stare at one another, sizing each other up. Then the boy smiled – the edges of his lips curled up in a sinister fashion – and he spoke. His voice was soft, cultured, and cold.

"Are you new here?"

In a flash, everything returned to normal. The boy now appeared as typical as anyone could be – blood-free and whole. Whatever it was Damien had seen a moment earlier was…a premonition? Or—?

"Does anyone know that you'd be arriving today?" the boy inquired politely. "Everyone's already asleep. It _is _a bit late, you know."

"And yet _you_ are here," Damien remarked cautiously, crossing his arms.

The boy didn't seem to take too well at being chastised – and by a stranger at that – because something in his face changed. It was subtle, and Damien couldn't put his finger into it. The boy was still smiling amicably, but something felt…off.

The boy ignored Damien's comment, offering instead, "I know another way in. You could come if you want to."

Damien had a sudden mental image of a witch in a children's storybook, promising a young boy all manners of comfort, but in truth, leading the hapless child into a trap. The thought was ridiculous, of course. The boy before him was nothing like a witch, and he wasn't a naïve little child. And yet…

Damien hesitated. He couldn't identify it, but there was a quality to the boy's presence that Damien could only describe as…_threatening_. Which didn't make any sense, because the boy's appearance was the exact opposite of that word. Again, the possibility that the boy wasn't human crossed his mind, but he quickly dismissed the notion.

"You're a student here?" Damien asked, not budging from his spot.

The boy laughed, but it was a hollow sound, bearing no trace of amusement. "Quite the distrustful one, aren't you?"

Damien glowered. "It _is_ a bit late to be roaming the grounds."

"It _is_ a bit late to be arriving for school," the boy parried, mimicking Damien's tone.

"I just transferred," Damien answered defensively, "and the ferry was delayed."

"I couldn't sleep," said the boy, "and I had nothing better to do."

Damien subsided into silence. The boy was still smiling, but there was nothing remotely reassuring about his expression. It was more like a practiced movement of facial muscles rather than a manifestation of any genuine emotion. It was so…cold. Damien shivered.

"My name is Saralegui."

"I…uh…" Damien cleared his throat, caught off-guard at the introduction. "I'm Damien…" He realized his mistake as soon as the words left his mouth. He cursed himself inwardly for his carelessness. Why on earth did he use his real name?

Saralegui cocked his head. His long hair swayed with the wind, like a thousand banners of silk that fluttered heavenward before descending gently back to his shoulders, framing his face and turning it bone-white in the moonlight. His eyes sparkled, and for the briefest moment, Damien thought he saw a red tinge at the boy's cheek. For the fraction of a second, Damien nearly convinced himself that he saw an empty hole at the boy's chest. But the wind howled and the moment passed quickly, and just like before, everything was back to the way it was.

"Are you coming?" Saralegui called out to him.

Damien watched the boy uncertainly, his sense of caution warring with his desire to take a rest. It was a chilly night and he was exhausted. He could no longer think straight. And besides, he hadn't intended to start his investigation the very moment that he arrived. Damien found himself nodding, making a rash decision to shelve his impressions of the other boy somewhere at the back of his mind, for examination at a later date. These things he had been seeing – whatever these were – would have to wait until dawn.

Saralegui beckoned to him with one hand, and Damien moved to follow him. The boy's lips were still frozen into a smile. Damien felt another chill run up his spine, unsure whether his unease was coming from the weather or from this boy. Saralegui. It was an odd name. It suited him.

_'Strange,'_ Damien reflected. _'What a strange guy.'_

"By the way," Saralegui said pleasantly, turning his head just so, "welcome to Saint Rose."

It was unexpected, and Damien supposed that it wasn't intentional, but when the boy turned to speak to him, Damien was momentarily…_blinded_. Like he was staring straight at the sun. Dear god, was there a less clichéd way to describe this feeling? He knew he had lost his train of thought for a moment, and he was aware that he had stopped walking, had even ceased breathing. And it was all because…because…

Damien shook his head, cheeks reddening with combined embarrassment and annoyance. Saralegui was already a few steps in front of him, seemingly unaware of Damien's discomfiture, or that he had been the cause of it.

_Definitely strange_, Damien decided. His final thought when he was finally able to compel his body to move was that he would have to keep a careful eye on this beautiful stranger.

**~o0o~**

**III. Legend**

**~o0o~**

"I have the pleasure to introduce a new student," the headmaster of Saint Rose intoned in a deep, somber voice, interrupting the students' free time at the study hall. "This is Mr. James Carmichael."

Damien listened to the old man's speech and fought hard to contain a wince. He knew it was tradition, that it was necessary, but he couldn't stop himself from thinking violent thoughts against the headmaster for the prolonged introduction. It wasn't even so much as an introduction as a description of Damien's alleged pedigree, making him feel like a newly-acquired show dog that was currently being paraded in front of a room of animal enthusiasts.

Finally escaping the clutches of the headmaster, Damien took the first empty seat he could find and settled by making small talk with the student who occupied it. Antoine – a cheerful-looking boy who turned out to be the heir of a large wine industry in the French regions – was friendly and surprisingly pleasant to talk to, and after a few minutes of idle conversation, he ended up offering to take Damien around with him. Damien accepted the assistance, mind churning out various methods and means to extract more information from his new acquaintance.

But as it turned out, he didn't even need to. Antoine was very forthcoming with details and stories about nearly everyone in the campus, and he did so without even so much as an encouragement from Damien. At the end of a mere fifteen minutes, Damien had already learned more about the murders that took place at the school, with much insight from Antoine about several possible motives and, consequently, suspects. Damien couldn't decide which of the things his companion had told him were merely rumors and which could be solid possibilities. The way that Antoine told it, half of the school population had very strong reasons to do away with both Belal and Ranjeel.

"A lot of companies shut down because of the families of those two," Antoine informed him. "The take-overs were _brutal_. They'd run over anyone who are less financially-able that they are, those bastards." Damien raised an eyebrow at this, and Antoine quickly backtracked. "Not that I condone what happened to those guys, but you know…I'm not really sorry that they're gone. And so are a lot of people here."

_'Great,' _Damien thought, _'So that makes half the school murder suspects.' _

"Well maybe except for their fiancées," Antoine amended.

"Fiancées?" Interesting. So the victims were supposed to be married?

"They're no longer here," said Antoine. "The girls, I mean. They transferred out when the two died. To be fair, Belal and Ranjeel did have a good side. As far as I could tell, they really loved those girls. Spoiled them rotten."

"Were they involved in the investigation?" Damien asked.

"Of course. They were the prime suspects for some time, but they happened to have watertight alibis."

So the police had exhausted all leads, huh? Aloud, Damien asked, "Didn't you say that the bodies were found in their rooms?"

"Which were locked from the inside," stressed Antoine.

"So how do you think…?" Damien trailed off suggestively.

His companion quickly took the bait. "Well, there is something else…but you know, people just laugh it off. They think it's ridiculous…"

The boy eyed Damien cautiously, as though he feared Damien might also make fun of whatever it was he was going to say.

"I think any theory is worth a shot," Damien said earnestly.

Antoine seemed reassured, and he went on, "There is a legend around here, about the forest. Have you heard about it?"

The forest. Damien had seen the forest on his way to the dormitory last night. His brow creased slightly, a wisp of an idea popping out of nowhere. Something happened last night…right? What was it? He felt as though he had forgotten something important.

"James?"

Damien gave a start in delayed recognition. The fake name still sounded foreign to his ears. "Uh, not really," he muttered after a second. "But I think there's something about a nymph…or a spirit?"

"A goddess," Antoine corrected. "Well, it was supposed to be a goddess, the goddess of love. She was called Dian, and as old folks told it, she would often descend to earth to mingle among us mortals"

Damien nodded to show that he was listening.

His companion continued, "They say that she was beautiful, and that before long, she caught the eye of the king of a nearby kingdom. He asked her hand in marriage, oblivious to her being a goddess and all. But Dian fell for him too, and she decided to drop everything in order to be his bride."

"Drop everything?" Damien echoed.

"She was stripped of her immortality and was banished from the heavens," Antoine explained. "But well, she was happy. And that was enough for her. Then a horrible thing happened. Before her wedding day, a lady from the kingdom, who had hoped to marry the king herself, spread rumors that Dian was a witch. The king was appalled, and he had her arrested and executed—hey, are you listening?"

Unconsciously, Damien had placed his hand on his forehead, as though to physically stop the sharp, persistent feeling that he was missing something. Antoine looked offended and Damien quickly forced himself to smile. "No, go on. I just…I just felt that I have heard that story somewhere," he lied.

Antoine eyed Damien suspiciously, but he continued just the same, "So, following the king's orders, Dian was burned at the stake. But she didn't die – or to be more exact, she _couldn't _die. They say that she escaped into the nearby forest before she could fully be turned into ash. The soldiers didn't find her body."

Damien struggled to concentrate on Antoine's tale. The story was interesting, a tale that would have captured his imagination any given day. But a vague memory was eating at him, an unnamed, unreachable thing occupying his mind, driving everything else away. He had forgotten something. What was it—?

"You're not listening," Antoine chided, interrupting Damien's ruminations for a second time. The boy looked disgruntled; obviously, he had meant to enthrall Damien with his story and was disappointed that he didn't get the desired reaction.

Damien grimaced in a gesture of remorse. "It's just a headache. Don't mind me."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," said Damien, clearing his throat. "So what happened to the girl in the story?"

Antoine continued with considerably less enthusiasm, "They kept searching for Dian's body but they never found it. Pretty soon, they just assumed that she was dead. But the locals claim that Dian didn't leave, that because she gave up her life in the heavens, her spirit was still bound to the earth. They say that she still haunts the forest, trapped between earth and heaven, unable to move on, keeping herself barely alive by _eating people's hearts_—"

A bell rang, a deep and hollow sound reverberating across the room, putting Antoine's tale to a timely end. The students all around them shifted, almost in unison, in response to the signal. Antoine jumped from his seat.

"It's time for the next class," he said, turning to Damien. "You're with me, aren't you?"

"I—wait—" Damien groped for the schedule the headmaster had given him—wait, when was it given to him again? He already had it in his pocket this morning, so it must have been before that. But it couldn't possibly be last night. There was no one there when he arrived. Come to think of it, why couldn't he recall how the headmaster reacted to his very late appearance? Did he even meet with the old man last night…?

"Hey, James!" Antoine waved a hand in front of his face. "It's pretty early to be spacing out, you know."

"Uh, sorry!" Damien stood up too, flustered, grabbing his things. "I have Biology next—"

"Perfect," said Antoine. "We're in the same class. Come on."

Damien followed the boy, unable to shake off the feeling that a very similar scenario had happened recently. Someone had offered to take him somewhere, and he had obeyed with much reluctance. But why couldn't he remember…?

"—going to be a great class," Antoine chattered beside him. "The teacher's good, although there are some unsavory rumors about him and another student. But that's beside the point. His classes are always interesting—"

Damien allowed his companion to prattle on, occasionally inserting the usual "okay", "is that right?" and other similarly vague rejoinders. It was only when he felt a fresh breeze against his face that Damien paid more attention to what his companion was saying, and where they were going. They were traipsing out into the grounds, toward a grassy slope just beyond the entrance.

As they passed the wrought-iron gate that had impeded Damien's arrival the night before, Damien stopped completely, staring at the massive metalwork with mounting bewilderment. He had been at this very place last night, but he had no recollection of entering the gate. It was as if he had arrived, and then the next thing he knew, he was already in bed.

Last night…what happened last night? He had arrived at school past midnight. He had gotten out of the car. He remembered being cold. He remembered staring at the dormitory. Then…his eyes had drifted to the forest. And he saw…he saw…

Damien strained to remember. What did he see? Why on earth was he encountering nothing but a blank? Why were his next memories those of waking up in his room, going down to the headmaster's office to process his transfer papers, and then walking with the old man down to the study hall? Why was he missing a large chunk of what took place the night before?

"James!"

Damien tensed. Antoine was already several meters in front of him, forcing Damien to quicken his pace to catch up.

"Geez," Antoine commented, "you sure space out a lot, don't you?"

Damien blamed his imaginary headache. Antoine accepted the excuse without much fuss, and together, they clambered down the path toward their destination.

"Uh, sorry but why are we out here again?" Damien inquired as they drew near.

"Listening isn't one of your strong suits, is it?"

"Sorry…"

"I already told you – Belias wanted us to make a thorough assessment of the flora and fauna found in the island," his companion explained. Then he added, noting the blank look on Damien's face, "Belias is the Biology professor. He's really good, although he's often out of school nowadays. I heard we're going to have a double period with one of the advanced classes."

"Advanced classes?" Damien repeated.

"Yeah. Those are the classes for the really_, really _nerdy types. They're all mostly okay – you know, all very agreeable chaps – as long as it's not the class with—"

Antoine came to a halt. The slope was already littered with nearly twenty students, all loitering about in pairs or more. Most were chatting loudly to one another, their collective voices muted somewhat by the loud whooshing of the wind.

"What's wrong?" Damien asked.

Antoine groaned, nodding toward someone situated a little far off from the crowd. "I should have known. It's _his_ class."

Damien followed his companion's line of vision and what he saw made him stop and literally freeze with combined confusion and recognition.

What the hell was going on?

**~o0o~**

**IV. Remembrance**

**~o0o~**

There was a boy at the far end of the grassy area. He was seated alone under the shade of an old tree, leaning back against the trunk and staring off into the distance. He looked quite absorbed in whatever it was he was observing, apparently oblivious to his surroundings. Damien watched him with interest. He could see the boy's eyes from where he was standing, and Damien could tell that they weren't moving. The way his body was oriented, his location, his distance from the other students…it was all a ploy, Damien surmised. A sign to warn others to stay away.

The boy must have sensed that he was being watched, for he glanced up, meeting Damien's gaze. A pair of tinted glasses hid his eyes from view, making it impossible to tell what he was thinking. Damien guessed that that must be what those were for. He had the impression that there was nothing wrong with the boy's eyesight. The glasses were perhaps ornamental in nature, but it seemed to Damien as if they could also be there as a self-protective device – a screen to hide behind, to withdraw upon, as needed.

_'Strange,' _Damien thought, his mind unexpectedly and forcibly suffused with visions of that same face – exquisitely beautiful in one instant, then inexplicably blood-spattered in the next. And then there was that one other thing, another startling mental picture – a body divested of a heart. Damien felt dazed. He had seen this guy before! Last night!

Damien took a breath to steady himself, not breaking eye contact with the blond guy. _'You did this,' _he accused mutely. _'What on earth did you do to me?'_

As though mocking his confusion and indignation, the boy smiled. And as if the movement of the boy's lips was a trigger, the sounds and images came rushing to fill the gaps in Damien's memories. This boy was here last night. He had offered to take Damien inside the school grounds, and true to his word…he had. He did know another way in, a circuitous path that led them to a door in the cellar, up to a narrow passage that opened to the school's inner yard.

The boy had left him then, giving Damien directions to the headmaster's office. Damien had wanted to thank him, but somehow, the words wouldn't come out. At any rate, the boy didn't seem like he was expecting any gesture of gratitude. He had merely smiled again – that smile that didn't reach his eyes – and Damien had the strangest sensation of being…_blinded_. A feeling that he'd been staring straight at something intensely _bright_.

Then he remembered the boy's voice, his tone pleasant and casual, as he told him, _"How clever of you to find a way in."_

Damien was rightfully confused. _"What are you talking about? You're the one—" _

_"No,"_ the same voice interrupted gently. _"You were alone. You didn't see anyone tonight."_

_"But—I—"_

_"You found a way in. Good job."_

_"But…"_

But Damien didn't know what followed. All he remembered was a nothingness that felt like he was being lulled to sleep, and that was it. The boy must have left him standing in the middle of the unlit yard, and Damien had…he had…

"Hey."

Antoine nudged him on the ribs, jerking Damien back to the present. His companion was glaring at him with mild remonstration.

"Uh…w-what?" Damien stuttered.

"Don't even think about it," Antoine warned in an undertone.

"What?"

Antoine gave him a knowing look. "You think he's cute, don't you?"

Damien felt at a loss. "Who?"

"Saralegui."

"Sara…legui…" Damien repeated softly, letting the name roll slowly down his tongue. Yes, that was the blond's name. He had introduced himself. Saralegui. He added, speaking more to himself, "I was just wondering…what happened last night…"

Damien returned his gaze to the boy in question. This guy had _compelled_ him into action – and without question, without a single grain of objection. His first impression had been correct. This guy – Saralegui – was no ordinary human, or maybe not really human at all. Damien gazed distrustfully at the boy, not missing all the implications that his encounter with the latter entailed. He couldn't possibly discount his visions as mere coincidence either, when the case that brought him to this place involved hearts being ripped off peoples' chests. Saralegui must be involved somehow, his inner sense was telling him. And his perception of people and events had never failed him before – not even once. It was one of the things that made him a passable investigator.

"Last night?" Antoine said incredulously, and Damien realized too late that the vagueness of his statement had incited several interpretations from his nosy companion. Before he could clarify, however, Antoine demanded, "You were with _Saralegui_? _That_ Saralegui?"

_'This isn't good_,' Damien scolded himself. He was getting careless. What was happening to him? Damien wondered if he could still retract what he had just said, but he feared it was already too late.

"Oh, is he that popular?" he joked, trying to make light of his companion's reaction.

"Don't tell me you haven't heard of him?" exclaimed Antoine. "He's the heir of Alazon Enterprises!"

"The airline?" Damien asked, taken aback at this new information.

He _had_ heard of Alazon Enterprises before, having been force-fed by his handlers with information about the richest corporations in this part of the world. Much of his knowledge though, had been nearly washed out through the years, and all he could remember now was the fact that the company was named after the founder's wife, and that after the founder's untimely death as well as the wife's disappearance some years before, the son had started running the company at the tender age of fifteen.

After an initial year of instability and looming bankruptcy, the son managed to turn the company around, and because of this feat, he was lauded by everyone as a genius in every possible way. Damien reeled back as another information struck him out of nowhere. Alazon Enterprises, if he remembered correctly, was the major flight services provider of the Cimaron Group.

"Yes, that's the one," Antoine affirmed. "His family controls a portion of the Cimaron Group – a quarter of it, if memory serves me right. You've heard of Cimaron, haven't you?"

Damien nodded. "What can you tell me about him? Saralegui?"

"He's younger, but he's in an advanced class. About to graduate, in fact. Good riddance, if you ask me."

"Why is that?"

That was all the prodding that Antoine needed. "Well, remember the two unsolved murders? The victims – Belal and Ranjeel – were also from the Cimaron Group. Saralegui's related to them somehow, but they all hated each other's guts."

"Why?"

"Family matters," Antoine said simply, as though that should explain everything. "The usual clash over money and properties. But I also heard there was some issue about his mother."

"Saralegui's mother?" Damien echoed in confusion.

Antoine bit his lip, looking suddenly uncomfortable. "I'm not supposed to know about this but…well, I hear things around here. Word has it that she ran away with the company's money. I heard Ranjeel rubbing that into Saralegui's face before. You should have seen the look on his—"

"You saw them arguing?" Damien cut in, unable to keep the excitement out of his voice. "Was this just before Ranjeel died?" _ Talk about motive, _he added internally.

"Save it," Antoine advised, noting the eager glint in Damien's eyes. "I told the police the same thing, but they just dismissed everything."

"There was no evidence against him?"

"Well, in all fairness, he did have an alibi when Belal and Ranjeel were killed, but still…"

"You still think he had something to do with their deaths?"

"It's kind of hard not to," Antoine reasoned, shrugging, "because well…I think you'll soon get what I mean…there's just something strange about him. As to _capability,_ he's the type who'd certainly dispose of someone just to get to his goal."

"Even to the point of murder?" Damien asked doubtfully.

"I don't really know but…well, with people like him, I guess you could never tell…"

They both fell quiet. Damien's eyes wandered back to the fair-haired guy, finding to his discomfort, that the boy was also observing him. It was just like last night, when they had seen each other for the first time, with both taking a second to take stock of one another.

"James."

He felt another elbow on the side, and Damien turned back reluctantly to face his companion.

"Hey," Antoine asked in a low tone, "you said you saw Saralegui last night, right?"

"I arrived late last night," Damien said as nonchalantly as he could. "I just happened to…I mean…" He shook his head, then decided to just go ahead and lie, "I think I saw him but I'm not really sure."

The fact that he was unsure didn't bother Antoine, who cried, "Last night? But that's past curfew! What was he doing outside at that hour?" The boy's voice had risen with animation, and a beat or two passed before they both realized that everyone's heads were turned toward their direction, Saralegui's included. Antoine lowered his voice. "James, did you see anyone elselast night?"

"Uh, anyone else?'

"Was there anyone with him? With Saralegui?"

"Should there be anyone with him?"

For a second, Antoine hesitated, shuffling his feet guiltily. But easily overriding all stirrings of a conscience, he said, "Well, you'll find out eventually. It's not as if it's a secret. They're not even making any effort to hide it."

Damien's ears pricked up with interest. "Hide what?"

"There's a rumor that Saralegui's meeting someone secretly. Well, not so secretly, if people have been seeing them all over the school. I think only the staff and the headmaster don't know anything about it."

Damien could feel a definite sense of letdown. He had hoped that he would be able to uncover something about Saralegui, or his involvement with the students' deaths, if there was any. This, however, sounded like your run-of-the-mill school scandal. He wondered wryly if any of these gossips would be of relevance to this mess of a case that he was trying to unravel. He highly hoped that they weren't just a waste of time.

"Oh," he remarked, not quite knowing how to react. "Um, is that a bad thing?"

"Depends on who he's seeing, and why he's seeing him."

"Him?" Damien repeated, finding that he wasn't so surprised at the revelation. "So Saralegui's seeing—"

Antoine suddenly stood on alert and signaled for Damien to stop talking. Damien took the cue and immediately looked around. Somebody had arrived; a man, whom Damien assumed to be the teacher, had just emerged from the bushes, seeming as though he had just materialized out of nowhere.

"Everybody gather around," the man said without preamble. His voice wasn't particularly loud to overcome the nonstop chattering of the students, but it had been enough to catch everyone's attention. "Line up. We shall start in a minute."

Damien traipsed after Antoine as everybody around them broke into two lines. In the cover of the noise made by a multitude of feet shuffling against the ground, Antoine tapped him on the shoulder and mouthed a single word: _"Him."_

For a second, Damien didn't understand what that meant, and then parts of what his companion told him earlier came flashing back:

_"The teacher's good, although there are some unsavory rumors about him and another student…Well, you'll find out eventually. It's not as if it's a secret. They're not even making any effort to hide it."_

And in the twinkling of an eye, Damien understood.

_'Him,'_ he thought, not quite knowing what to make of the information, but filing it just the same at the back of his mind for future use. He stared at the man before him and repeated silently, _'It's him.'_

**~o0o~**

**V. Altercation**

**~o0o~**

The Biology professor was a tall, thin man with a ravishing face – the type that people would quickly notice and never forget. He had sharp eyes that seemed almost Asian, and a long mane of jet black hair that he kept tied at the nape. He was just so _cool_.

His voice was deep and calm, and it held a tone of authority that wasn't easy to ignore. In fact, as soon as he had spoken, all of the students stopped talking and did as they were told. Well, all except for one. From the corners of his eyes, Damien saw that Saralegui didn't budge an inch, a fact that no one seemed to be bothered about, not even the teacher. Damien's attention lingered on the boy. For his part, Saralegui appeared to have lost his interest on him and had since returned his gaze to a spot somewhere in the distance.

"I would be gone for the rest of the week," the teacher informed them, "but I am going to leave you with a project."

There was a sudden shift in the air, and Damien could literally sense the anticipation from the students around him. It was odd to have this atmosphere in a class, especially one as potentially boring as Biology, but Damien guessed that it must be this teacher's influence. The man must be as good as Antoine had earlier intimated.

"Again?" one of the boys teased. "Must be nice to have another vacation…"

"Where have you been going by the way?" another called out. "You're not meeting anyone on the side, are you?"

"You're not cheating on us, are you?" a third student said in mock fury, prompting chuckles and catcalls from the others.

The teacher – Belias – answered all the queries unsmilingly, "It is not a vacation, I am not going to meet anyone, and I am not going to dignify that last question with a response."

Everyone laughed good-naturedly. When the humorous outbreak died down, Antoine raised a hand and asked, "So what are we going to do, Belias?"

"A continuation of your earlier assignment. The same conditions apply: a description of the bionetwork in the island, except—"

"—the forest," chorused the students, "We know."

"The forest is—"

"—out of bounds," the students said together. "We know already."

"I could not leave you unsupervised," Belias went on, "so I am going to entrust you with members of the advanced class. I want you to pair up – each of you with a member of the other class."

As the students divided into pairs, Belias's voice droned in the background, giving instructions for what they were supposed to do, and the output they were supposed to submit at the end of the week. Damien watched everyone mill around him, noting as he did so, that nearly everyone had already ended up with a partner. Antoine had gotten together with a short-haired girl from the advanced class, leaving Damien standing all alone in the midst of everything. The snobs of Saint Rose were all uninterested in the new kid. Unwillingly, his eyes strayed to the blond at the other end of the grassy area: Saralegui was no longer alone.

Damien could feel his eyebrows rising at the sight. Belias had approached Saralegui, falling to one knee down to the boy's eye level. The man's mouth moved and formed into a greeting and Saralegui responded in kind. A few more words passed between them, and then Belias stood up and offered the other a hand. Saralegui took the man's hand willingly, his lips quirking with…was that delight? Or amusement?

Damien was intrigued. Saralegui's smile was different; it was…_real_.

_'So that was definitely it,'_ Damien concluded, staring at the unlikely pair. Saralegui was seeing a teacher – _this_ teacher in fact. Damien mulled that over, weighing the information's potential significance to the case at hand. If Saralegui was involved with the murders, could Belias be mixed in too? If they were as close as the rumors indicated, they could be working togeth—

The idea dissolved in mid-thought, as a frosty wind gusted toward him and the vision before him transformed once more into something out of the ordinary. Saralegui was still standing there, conversing with the teacher, but he was – once again – missing a heart. There was blood on his face, dripping down his neck in beads of pure scarlet, leaving blots of carnation against the fur collar of his coat. Again, the boy seemed to sense that he was being watched. He inclined his head toward Damien, his cheeks crimson with blood.

Damien felt nauseous. He shook his head vigorously, disgusted at the gory image. It wasn't as much the seeing as what he was witnessing that threw him off-kilter. He had always been able to see patches of things that weren't visible to the naked eye, and having these types of visions wasn't entirely new to him. This, however, was his first time to witness a highly grisly and thoroughly unpleasant image. He didn't know what it signified, and he didn't like it. He wondered whether Shinou had an inkling that something of this sort would happen. He wondered sullenly whether throwing him into the midst of a ghastly scenario was his superior's idea of a joke.

"Is there a problem?"

Damien blinked, startled. The inquiry came from Belias, who was staring at him questioningly from a few meters away. Damien wanted to shake his head in denial, but his entire body felt like it had turned to lead, rendering him immobile. His gaze drifted to Saralegui, and he nearly blanched at the naked hostility on the boy's features.

"Are you new?" Belias asked. "I do not recognize you."

Damien nodded, intimidated at being addressed by an authority figure.

Belias strode toward him, closing the gap in a few paces, holding out a hand. Damien stared at the outstretched limb, perplexed. He wondered if the man was expecting him to shake it, but then Belias said in his commanding voice, "Your schedule, if you please."

Wordlessly, Damien groped for the slip of paper in his pocket and handed it to the man. Belias gave it a perfunctory look; then his arm dropped to his side and the paper disappeared into another set of hands. With a jolt, Damien realized that Saralegui had also approached, hidden somewhat from view by Belias's tall frame. He looked more intimidating up close, especially now that he seemed so…displeased.

"James Carmichael?" Saralegui read, looking up at Damien. "Is that right?"

Damien was suddenly and unpleasantly reminded of his encounter with the boy the night before. He had let slip his real name, or maybe – Damien reconsidered – maybe the boy had drawn it out of him. That was pretty inconsequential when compared to erasing someone's memories.

"I'm glad to meet you," Saralegui said pleasantly. He didn't offer his hand. "I would tell you my name, but I have a feeling you already know." He nodded his head toward Antoine. "I just hope whatever your friend told you did me justice."

Damien couldn't tell whether the boy was offended or merely amused. He glanced uncertainly at Antoine, who was, at the moment, determinedly avoiding his gaze. Everybody else seemed to be looking elsewhere, but Damien had a feeling that they were all listening intently to the conversation.

"Sara," Belias said in a low tone. It sounded oddly appeasing, as though in his own quiet way, the man was trying to dissuade Saralegui from engaging Damien into a confrontation.

But Saralegui refused to be deterred. The edges of his lips curled up, but the resulting expression looked more like a sneer rather than a smile. It was far from pleasant, but Damien found it to be refreshingly honest.

"Well, do you need anything?" Saralegui asked. "_James_?"

Damien didn't miss the sardonic inflection the boy had placed on the name, and his fists clenched with irritation. He had never wanted to hit someone so badly in his entire life. How dare he act like Damien had done him something so wrong and unforgivable when it was the other way around? He was about to give himself entirely to this violent impulse when Belias stepped between Saralegui and him, the man's jaw set firm into a resolute expression.

"That is quite enough. Please learn to follow instructions and go back to the activity, Mr. Carmichael."

Being censured for something that wasn't his fault was, for Damien, the final straw. Feeling an uncharacteristic surge of spite, he looked Belias in the eye and said, "I _am_ following your instructions, sir. I was about to approach _Sara_ here to ask whether he would be my partner."

There was an abrupt and absolute stillness at his declaration. It was as if everyone around them had stopped breathing.

Damien asked, his tone challenging, "How about it, _Sara_?"

Saralegui's eyes flashed, and his smile turned dangerously congenial. "I work alone."

"The instructions were to pair up with someone from the other class."

"I'm sure Belias would make an exception," said Saralegui, and without even looking at the teacher, he confirmed, "wouldn't you?"

Belias didn't immediately answer. He was regarding Damien with a grim look in his eye. But Damien didn't give him a chance to speak.

"I think you had better reconsider," he told Saralegui.

Saralegui shook his head. "I would rather not…_James._"

The fake name was uttered with such significance that there was no doubt in Damien's mind that Saralegui meant to expose him if he persisted. _'Well, two can play that game,' _Damien thought in a fit of vindictiveness. Shrugging, as though to recognize his defeat, he said, "Suit yourself then, but if you change your mind…"

"I won't."

Saralegui turned his back, motioning Belias to go with him. Damien waited for the boy to take exactly one step away before calling out, "By the way, I never did thank you for last night."

It had the desired effect. Saralegui froze in mid-step, and although Damien couldn't see his face, he could tell from the uneasy expression on Belias's features that Saralegui was – at the very least – shaken at that statement.

It was Damien's turn to smile.

"I meant to thank you earlier," he continued, much to everyone's apprehension, "but it took me such a long time to _remember._"

Saralegui didn't move. Belias placed a hand on the boy's shoulder and murmured something that sounded like, _"Don't."_

"It was so silly of me to _forget_," Damien ended, placing an emphasis on the last word.

Saralegui brushed off the hand on his shoulder, and very slowly, swiveled around. His hair moved with his head, swaying gently, a parting curtain that gradually unveiled his face. His glasses gleamed, hiding his eyes from scrutiny. Then unexpectedly, he smiled, as if to say that he was accepting the challenge implied in Damien's words.

"On second thought," he said amiably, "why not? I believe I'd be able to teach you a thing or two."

"I look forward to it," Damien answered evenly.

"I'll see you around then."

"Of course."

A minute later, when both Saralegui and Belias had walked away, out of hearing distance, Damien found himself to be the subject of a ridiculous amount of attention. The other students were staring at him with a touch of awe, but only Antoine came forward, looking torn between wonder and disapproval.

Finally, the boy shook his head and admonished, "You really don't listen, do you? Why did you have to go and say that to _him_?Of all people, you just had to pick a fight with Saralegui! _And _you asked him to be your partner? Are you crazy? "

"He started it," Damien pointed out.

"You have to apologize _and _call the partner thing off," said Antoine, ignoring his comment. "You can't work with someone like that. Trust me, you don't want to—"

"It'll be fine," Damien replied. "Let it be."

"James—"

"No."

"For the last time—"

"Let it go," Damien said stubbornly.

Antoine exhaled heavily, miffed. "Fine. It's your funeral."

"I know," Damien muttered to nobody in particular. But deep inside, he couldn't feel any regret for what he'd done. He couldn't quite explain it, but the altercation had left him with a curious sense of elation. He couldn't qualify it either, but he felt as though he was on the verge of uncovering something – something big. He gazed at the direction Saralegui had taken with Belias, mind geared toward a particular objective.

Innocent and pleasant though he may outwardly appear, Saralegui was turning out to be a _very_ viable suspect. There was definitely something beneath that face and that misleading smile, beyond the warm, amber eyes that felt so icy in contradiction. And if Saralegui turned out to be involved, Damien was more than ready to snatch that beautiful mask away and reveal what was truly underneath.

Damien found himself looking forward to that day with grim anticipation.

**~o0o~**

**VI. Supernatural**

**~o0o~**

"Let me get this straight," Shinou's voice crackled from the other end of the line, "you think this Saralegui person has something to do with the murders?"

"Yes," Damien said intently. "You said yourself that there are non-human factors involved—"

"—which does not necessarily mean that you have to shoot the guy with the supernatural ability. I am surprised that you have drawn your conclusions based solely on that account, considering that you have one yourself, right Damien? Or James—"

"_Don't_ call me that!" he hissed vehemently. It hadn't been a full day when he'd started living with that name, but he was already sick of it.

"Damien," Shinou conceded, "I would like to believe that I taught you better than to suspect someone without proof."

Damien was momentarily rendered speechless with resentment, and when he found his voice, he argued, "Proof! That guy _made_ me do something against my will! He erased my memories, Shinou, and if that couldn't qualify as proof—!"

"Oh it is proof, alright." There was a pause, followed by the delicate clink of a tea cup against a china saucer. The sounds conjured an image of Shinou reclining in a patio somewhere, sipping his afternoon tea. Damien waited, tapping his foot. And then his boss's voice came once more, "It is proof that your guy has non-human abilities, but not confirmation that he killed somebody. You need more than the fact that _you_ were so carelessly _manipulated _to do that guy's bidding, in order to prove murder. Surely you must know that."

"I do," Damien said through gritted teeth, deciding to disregard the covert admonishment, "and that's why I called. I need Saralegui's file. I'd go to the headmaster, but he isn't around and he doesn't want to be involved. So could you—?"

"Sorry," said Shinou, not waiting for him to finish, "no can do."

"And why the hell not?"

"Language, Damien," the man chided. "Remember where you are right now…which reminds me – why are you not in class?"

"Don't change the subject!"

"Answer my question first."

Damien huffed in exasperation, but he knew his superior well by now to know that yielding was the right way to go in this instance. "I skipped," he confessed, "I lost my schedule form out in the grounds."

"Lost" wasn't really the right term. Belias had taken the paper during Biology period and had handed it to Saralegui. Damien knew that he could always secure a replacement from the headmaster's office, but he didn't bother doing so when the loss made for a convenient excuse for him to get out of the classroom and call his boss. At any rate, Damien thought that he'd rather look for Saralegui and get the paper back, if just for the sake of annoying the hell out of that self-important snob.

After declining Antoine's offer of help, Damien had made his way to the yard. But he didn't take the normal route; instead, he followed the same path he'd taken the night before with Saralegui just so he could refresh his memories. He ended up outside the school gates, on the winding path overlooking the forest. He wondered what happened to his car, and with a twinge of annoyance, he recalled the headmaster telling him that the vehicle had been taken to the garage. Once again, he cursed Saralegui for tampering with his memories.

"Go back, Damien," Shinou said from the other end, rousing him back from his recollections. "You are not supposed to draw so much attention to yourself."

Damien bristled. "What about the file—?"

"I have to go," said Shinou. "As I said—"

"You didn't answer my question!"

"Damien." There was a warning note there, a thing that was rarely heard where Shinou was concerned. Then the voice softened. "Be very careful out there. I do not like the sound of that forest."

"I don't need advice, Shinou," Damien said quietly, calming down. "I need information."

"I am sorry, but I cannot help you on that count."

"Why?"

There was silence on the other end. Then he could hear Shinou chuckling before the man answered with an enigmatic, "Conflict of interest."

And with those three words, the line went dead.

Conflict of interest. Damien stared at the phone in bewilderment. What the hell was that? He remembered Shinou saying during the meeting with the client that he was "otherwise engaged" but…but surely…

Damien didn't know what to think. Then in the next instant, he found that he had no time to brood over Shinou's response. Two voices drifted from just around the corner, becoming increasingly louder as the owners drew near. Damien had a split second's view of a long mane of blond hair from a break in the branches, and acting on instinct, he ducked into a nearby bush for cover.

He regretted his decision as soon as he landed on his knees. The ground was covered entirely with thick, prickly brambles, piercing easily through his clothes and eating into his skin. Damien barely managed to contain a yowl of pain, and not a second too soon, Belias and Saralegui came sauntering from somewhere beyond the trees. They looked as if they had been arguing. Damien noted the unusual scowl on Saralegui's lips and he listened to the conversation with bated breath.

"—and be sure to call me the moment you get back," Saralegui was saying. He stopped and inclined his head up at Belias. "And you're still not going to tell me where you're going?"

Belias looked down at his companion and smiled for the first time. "We agreed, didn't we? We each get to keep one secret. This is something I would rather not tell you. At least for the time being."

Saralegui's eyebrows rose delicately. "So you're planning to tell me? Eventually?"

"Of course."

The answer seemed to appease the boy, for his entire body relaxed somewhat and he didn't say anything more for the next minutes. The two continued to walk in companionable silence. They didn't hold each other's hands or give any other indication of their rumored intimacy, but with their proximity, they could as well have been embracing. Damien noted that Belias was at least a half step behind the younger man, his arms moving tentatively in frequent intervals, as though he feared that Saralegui might fall any moment soon and he was merely getting ready to catch him. He appeared very protective of the other, at a level that Damien found to be slightly unsettling. It was as if Belias knew of some impending danger that Saralegui wasn't aware of.

As if to underline Damien's impression, Belias asked, "You are going to be fine?"

"I'm not a child," Saralegui answered, whirling around with a hand on his hip. But he looked so childish all the same that Damien couldn't blame Belias for looking skeptical.

"I know." Belias paused for a second before adding, "Although you do need to be reminded that classroom scuffles are beneath you."

Saralegui sighed dejectedly in response. "I just don't like that boy."

"Carmichael?"

"Carmichael," Saralegui sneered. "I've never even heard of the Carmichaels."

"There are plenty of Carmichaels in the city alone—"

"Too many Carmichaels, in fact, that anyone could virtually use the name and pose as someone from the family."

Belias seemed disturbed at the insinuation. Damien, on the other hand, sank deeper into the undergrowth. He had a suspicion that even if he hadn't unwittingly revealed his real name during that first night, Saralegui would have still found out that Damien had assumed a fake identity. There was a shrewdness in the boy's eyes that made the hairs at the back of Damien's neck stand on end. It was as if Saralegui could see right through him.

"In any case," Saralegui continued, "could you bring me that boy's file before you leave? I'd like to check something."

Damien wondered if this was normal procedure in this school, for any student's file to be at the easy access of another. He doubted that it was so, and he knew that what Saralegui was requesting of the man was both illegal and unethical.

Belias, however, neither agreed nor objected at the boy's request. He merely remarked, "It is quite unnatural for you to be so interested in someone."

Saralegui huffed. "I'm _not_ interested in him."

"He was observing you. And now that I think about it, _you _were looking at him, too."

"Because," said Saralegui deliberately, "there's something strange about him."

Damien nearly laughed at that statement. Strange! Strange, indeed.

"Strange?" Belias echoed. "What do you mean?"

Saralegui seemed at a loss for the first time. "He's just surprisingly…_resistant_."

"Resistant?" The older man's voice had grown hard with reproach. "Sara, do not tell me that you used your eyes on him."

"I _tried_ – 'tried' being the operative word here – Belias. But as you saw earlier, it didn't last – which was the first time that it happened."

"That was what he was talking about, wasn't it? You really did see each other last night."

"I just wanted him to forget about it."

Belias's eyes tapered into small suspicious slits. "Are you not going to tell me where you have been last night?"

"That's none of your business," Saralegui said dismissively, turning away.

"Sara…"

"We each get to keep one secret," the boy said with a hint of laughter in his voice. "This is something I'd rather not tell you for the time being."

Belias sounded amused. "And you would tell me? Eventually?"

"Maybe."

"That," Belias remarked with unmistakable affection, "is not fair."

Saralegui didn't respond. He continued his ascent up the slope, toward the path leading to the gate. But as he moved away, with Belias shadowing his footsteps, Damien could have sworn that he heard the boy chuckling with amusement. It was so foreign a sound, so incongruent with the aloof, touch-me-not image Saralegui had so consistently portrayed so far, that Damien couldn't help but feel a little confused.

It seemed to him that he had just seen two different people – Saralegui, the devious manipulator from the night before, the boy he had a spat with back in Biology class. And then there was another Saralegui, the relaxed, unguarded version with the jesting smile, who was currently walking together with Belias back toward the campus. So which was the real one?

Damien watched the two figures disappear beyond the gate before emerging from his hiding place. He stood there for a moment, taking a second to consider everything he had seen and heard so far. His head buzzed with new questions, to which he knew, the answers wouldn't be easy to find.

The wind blew, howling a warning in his ears. Damien moved to brush a clamp of hair out of his eyes, and was mildly surprised to find his palm bleeding. He looked down at himself, noting that his pants were torn off and had turned red with blood at the knees.

_Which does not necessarily mean that you have to shoot the guy with the supernatural ability, Damien._

He remembered what Shinou told him minutes back, and he cringed with a slight trace of embarrassment. So Saralegui wasn't as villainous as he had initially assumed, but that didn't mean that the boy was completely innocent either, right?

_I am surprised that you have drawn your conclusions based solely on that account, considering that you have one yourself, right Damien? _

Damien sighed, rubbing the gashes in his hand absentmindedly. Speaking of supernatural abilities…

The pain receded. Damien watched as the skin in his injured hand repaired itself, a wound healing in fast-forward motion. He did the same for his knees, passing a hand atop the bleeding areas. It took a few measly seconds before he knew that he was fully healed. He straightened up.

_'So it doesn't have to be the guy with the supernatural ability,' _Damien brooded. _'But still…I have a feeling that he's involved."_

And for the rest of the day – and for a long time afterwards – Damien's mind was filled with nothing else but the mystery that was Saralegui.

**~o0o~**

**VII. Encounter**

**~o0o~**

"Where have you been?" Antoine demanded as soon as he spotted Damien by the corridor. "You missed _three_ classes already!" He took in Damien's torn pants with a critical eye. "And what happened to you?"

"I got lost," Damien answered, finding that the lying was coming along more easily now. The truth was that he had spent a few hours getting in touch with some of his colleagues in order to get the information that Shinou had earlier refused to help him with. It took some time, but Damien's efforts had paid off. The downside was that he had completely lost track of time and had – as Antoine so keenly pointed out – missed three hours' worth of classes. "Am I in trouble?"

"You should be," Antoine huffed. "But you're lucky that the professors weren't even aware that there was a new student – well, until I told them. You'd have to talk to them tomorrow, though."

"I'll do that. Thanks."

"Geez, you're such a bother."

Damien grimaced. "Sorry."

"No, it's okay." Antoine smiled reassuringly at him. "You're scatter-brained but I think you're really nice. You're just strange, though."

Damien laughed at the word, having heard it twice in a row by now in reference to him. "I'm not really. I think I'm just very ordinary. Or boring, to be honest."

"The others don't think so. After standing up to Saralegui like that, they all think you're just simply wonderful. They think it was brave—"

"—which is more than what anyone could ever say about you, right Antoine?"

A familiar-looking girl had sneaked up behind Antoine, tapping his back with such force that the boy staggered forward, nearly falling to his knees. She grinned at Damien, while Antoine tried to recover his dignity by drawing himself to his full height and glaring daggers at the girl.

"Leila!" Antoine complained. "I told you not to do that!"

The girl had dark brown hair, cut short rather severely, like a boy's. She rolled her eyes and brushed her hair back carelessly with one hand. "Oh don't be such a baby."

"What do you want?" Antoine grumbled.

"It's your free period right?" Leila asked. "I have the rest of the afternoon free too, so I was thinking that we could start working on that Biology project."

At that, Damien suddenly remembered where he had seen the girl before. It was during the class with Belias, where she and Antoine had quickly paired up. Leila noticed his gaze, and she offered her hand in greeting.

"Hi. I'm Leila."

"James," Damien answered easily, shaking her hand. "You're from the advanced class, aren't you?"

"Of course. Unlike _someone _here, I managed to pass the qualifying exams."

"You just need to rub it in every time, don't you?" Antoine muttered, but he didn't look affronted by the girl's straightforwardness. They seemed quite used to being around one another, behaving with a level of comfort characteristic of close friends or intimate lovers. Just as Damien was wondering which would best typify their relationship, Leila caught his eye and grinned meaningfully.

"We're friends," Leila explained. "Childhood friends."

"Oh," Damien remarked. "I thought…"

"You're not the first one," said Antoine, blushing. "People always think that we're together just because they always see us together. But we're not."

"But he likes me," Leila added shamelessly.

"Leila!"

"Coward," the girl rebuked, but her eyes were warm and affectionate. "Come on then. We should go to the cliff this time around. You won't mind if I take your guide, will you, James?"

Damien shook his head. "I'll manage. Besides, you two look like you could use a private moment together."

"James!" Antoine sputtered, face reddening once again. "Not you too!"

"Sorry," Damien said, laughing. "But really, thanks for all the help so far. You should go with her."

"What's your next class?" Leila asked, hooking an arm around Antoine's. "We could drop you off before we go."

"Uh…I don't know, actually. I lost my schedule form…"

"You don't remember anything about this afternoon?"

"I think it was Literature, but I'm not really sure—"

"Literature started at least thirty minutes ago," a familiar voice corrected him. "The professor would never let you in even if you decide to go. You do have free period after that."

The atmosphere had thickened with palpable tension. Antoine and Leila both stiffened at the sight of the newcomer, while Damien strived to appear unruffled. Saralegui sauntered casually toward them, holding out a piece of paper to Damien. Belias was nowhere to be seen; the man must have already left.

"You forgot this," Saralegui said.

Damien took the paper, hoping that his face wouldn't betray his apprehension. "Thank you. Do you need anything?"

"We're partners, aren't we? I'd like to start working now."

It took Damien a few seconds to realize that the boy was referring to the Biology project they were supposed to submit when the professor returns. He considered Saralegui warily. "Right now?"

"Right now. I'd like to get this over and done with."

Damien wanted to refuse, remembering with painful clarity what happened the last time he had gone alone with the other boy. But declining felt like he was backing down, and where Saralegui was concerned, it was an unacceptable decision.

"Fine," Damien replied, and at his submission, his two companions finally stirred.

"James," Antoine whispered urgently, pulling him aside. "I know you said to let it go, but if it would change your mind, the last person who got too close to Saralegui was eventually expelled, and the last one he had an argument with ended up dead, so _please—_"

"Excuse me," Saralegui interrupted sternly. "I _am _still here. Why don't you say whatever you want to the proper way?" Antoine wavered, looking as though he wanted the ground to open up and swallow him whole right then and there. Saralegui raised his chin and declared contemptuously, "Coward."

"Hey," Leila interjected in her friend's defense, "that's enough already."

Saralegui ignored her. He spun around, gesturing imperiously to Damien, a shadow of the same movement he had given Belias earlier in the day. "Let's go."

"Hey!" Leila repeated, louder this time. "You—!"

Antoine tugged at the girl's collar, pulling her back. "Don't, Leila."

"But…" She trailed off, noting the look on Antoine's face. Damien recognized that expression. It was something one would wear when confronted with an insurmountable obstacle – helplessness and frustration combined into one.

"James, you're not seriously going with him, are you?" Leila asked. Antoine's gaze held the same question.

Damien bowed slightly. "Sorry," he said yet again. "You guys go on. Thank you for all the help, but I'll be fine now."

"If you say so," Leila said, shrugging. She spared Saralegui a look of dislike, grabbed Antoine firmly by the arm, and marched away.

Damien watched them go, his chest heavy with regret at the way things turned out. It was truly a shame, for he was beginning to like Antoine and Leila. They might have been friends if the situation had been different. Now all he had was—

"You _are_ coming, aren't you?" Saralegui called out impatiently.

Now all he had was _him_, Damien finished inside his head. This strange guy who was as insufferable as he was beautiful. How unfortunate, he moaned inwardly, but when had he ever been lucky with friends or family?

"Do you always do that?" Damien blurted out, keeping in step with the other boy. There were other students dawdling by the corridors, but they all gave them a wide berth. The look they gave Damien made him feel like a condemned man being led to the guillotine, or a hog to the slaughter.

"Do what?" Saralegui asked innocently, glancing at him.

"Get under people's nerves."

"Not intentionally."

"Great," Damien muttered. "So what happens if you _intentionally_ get under people's nerves?"

Saralegui considered that for a moment before answering seriously, "They'd go mad, I guess. Or die. Whichever comes first."

"Have you ever tried it before?"

"Tried what?"

"Doing something that would drive people insane. Or to their deaths, whichever came first?"

Saralegui paused. He seemed unnerved, but a second passed and he was back to his normal haughty self. "Hmm, I don't know," he said mysteriously, resuming his pace, leading the way in silence for the next couple of minutes until they reached a room at the farthest end of the school building.

"Go in," Saralegui said, coming to a halt, opening the door widely for Damien. The same mental image of a witch enticing a child to enter her lair flashed before Damien's eyes, and he had the most unreasonable desire to run away. He quickly checked himself, nodded politely, and entered the room.

Saralegui followed, and as he shut the door, Damien heard the ominous sound of a lock clicking into place. His entire body tensed in anticipation of danger, but the other boy merely gestured vaguely to the room, and said, "Here we are. Why don't we start with the flowers."

"The what?" Damien asked, perplexed, then as his brain finally processed the visual cues present around him, his anxiety was rapidly replaced with bemused fascination.

They were inside a greenhouse of sorts. There were shrubs all around them, bursting with flowers of all types and sizes, saturating the room with vivid colors. The walls and ceiling were made of glass, capturing the light of the afternoon sun from beyond the hills, bathing everything within in a cheerful, yellow glow. Defying all impracticalities, a circular platform was installed in the middle, and atop it, a small gazebo. A table was perched on the middle, along with two plush chairs. And to complete this thoroughly beguiling vision, a kettle and two teacups were set upon the table, beside a tray filled with petits fours and sandwiches. A flower pot swung from the gazebo's ceiling, dangling stems laden with small, red blossoms right above the table.

Saralegui seemed satisfied at his reaction. "I had this room built two years ago."

Damien wanted to shake his head at such display of opulence, but he reined himself in. "It's nice," he said instead. "You like flowers?"

"I don't dislike them," Saralegui replied noncommittally. "Do you have a paper and a pen with you? You should start taking notes."

Damien felt so out of his depth. He couldn't tell whether the boy was making fun of him by pushing through with the schoolwork as though there was nothing else for them to discuss. He wondered whether this was a set-up. He said tentatively, "I think I would rather listen for now. So what type of flowers do you have here?"

"Some of the species that grow in the island."

Damien cast his gaze around, his eyes landing on a bunch of flowers clustered very close together on the area to his immediate left. The flowers were predominantly orange, with flecks of yellow and burgundy dotting the paper-like petals.

"What are these?"

"Helichrysums," Saralegui answered, peering over Damien's shoulder. "Also known as everlasting. They're from the Asteraceae family."

"Oh."

Saralegui smiled. "Would you like some tea?"

Damien's mind immediately went to poisons and toxins and some other vile form of substance that could be slipped in, undetected, into the drink. Saralegui took his place on the platform, pouring steaming green liquid on the cups. The scene was eerily reminiscent of Alice in Wonderland, with Saralegui being both the Mad Hatter and Alice rolled into one.

"Tea?" Saralegui offered again, raising a cup. "James?"

Damien felt irked at the name, knowing that the boy was using it on purpose just to provoke him. He ignored the offer, and instead bent down to examine another cluster of flowers, noting the bright pink petals splayed out from a dark yellow center.

"What about this?"

Saralegui's smile dropped a few degrees colder, obviously not pleased at being snubbed. "_Cosmos bipinnatus_," he answered without missing a beat. "More commonly known as sea shells, for obvious reasons."

Damien nodded. The flowers did look awfully lot like their namesake.

"They're from the same family as the helichrysums," Saralegui went on. "Pretty, aren't they, _James_?"

Damien straightened up and decided that he couldn't keep retreating. It was time to retaliate. "That isn't my real name," he said amiably. "But you already know that, don't you?"

Saralegui regarded him sharply before offering once again, "Tea…_Damien_?"

Damien finally relented. He moved toward the table, settling on the seat opposite Saralegui. The boy handed him a cup, white steam issuing out of it in upward spirals, the scent reminding Damien of freshly crushed lilacs. He wrinkled his nose in suspicion.

"So who are you working for?" Saralegui asked, sipping his tea. "You're not here for your studies, are you?"

"What made you think that?" Damien asked.

"I'm not stupid."

Damien bit back a retort, suppressing the urge to roll his eyes. He chose not to answer, glancing instead at the plant hovering above the table. Three fleshy green stems arced gracefully over the sides of the container, suspending a row of heart-shaped flowers over the tea set. The outside petals were scarlet in color, but beneath the crimson layer, there was a cluster of more petals of the purest white.

"What about this one here?"

"_Lamprocapnos spectabilis," _Saralegui answered impatiently, putting down his cup. "What sort of work did you come here for?"

_'Man, he's persistent,'_ Damien thought. Pointing at the flowers, he asked to deflect the matter at hand, "What is it normally called?"

"A lot of things – the lady-in-a-bath or the lyre-flower, among others." Saralegui removed his glasses and placed them carefully next to his tea cup. "Is it about the murders?"

Damien froze, then cursed himself almost immediately. It was the same knee-jerk reaction he always had when confronted with an undeniable fact that he was trying, futilely, to hide. Why was he so damn easy to read?

Saralegui chuckled, a small triumphant sound that sent prickles of unrest up Damien's spine. Damien glared at the flowers, as though they were somehow at fault. From the periphery of his vision, he saw Saralegui clasp his hands together and rest his chin atop of his intertwined fingers. The intensity of his gaze was unsettling.

"What do you know so far? What did you find out?"

Damien finally tore his gaze off the flowers and met Saralegui's gaze, and for a moment, he had the strangest sensation of being…_blinded. _He recognized it the moment that he felt it, and acting quickly, he averted his gaze, breaking the eye contact. Saralegui looked surprised at his evasion.

"You have unusual eyes," Damien remarked calmly, although his heart was pounding in his ears. He had nearly been trapped…_again_.

"You…know?" Saralegui asked quietly.

"I'm not stupid," Damien said. He watched the flower pot swing delicately above him. "But I should warn you about using them on me again, or I'm afraid I would have to hurt you."

The threat hung in the air between them. Damien kept his eyes on the flowers, heart thumping at a rate that couldn't be accounted for by him simply sitting opposite another boy in a gazebo. He waited for any movement from the other side of the table, wondering what he'd do if Saralegui won't back down. After a few tense seconds, Saralegui replaced his glasses and pushed them up the bridge of his nose. He laughed, as though Damien had just said something amusing.

"Well, well…now I see," the boy chortled. "I wonder…"

Damien stood up, not seeing the humor in the situation at all. "Thanks for the tea," he murmured, although the contents of his cup remained untouched. "I guess we'll have to save the rest of the flowers for another day."

Saralegui didn't say anything, and it was only when Damien was already nearly out the door that the boy called out to him.

"Damien…"

"…yes?"

"Bleeding hearts," Saralegui said pensively.

Damien paused, wondering if he could now safely turn back and look at the boy. He took his chances and glanced back. "What?"

Saralegui nodded to the flowers Damien had been admiring earlier, extending a finger to touch a crimson bud. "They're native to eastern Asia, but they were introduced here in the mid 1800's by a Scottish botanist. They're what you call a spring ephemeral. They bloom quickly, but they die just as fast."

Damien nodded, although he couldn't understand what the information signified.

Saralegui's smile widened. "They're most commonly called bleeding hearts."

Damien nodded once more, his eyes straying back to the flowers – a row of tiny crimson hearts that seemed as though they were indeed dripping with blood. They made a fitting complement to the fair-haired boy seated primly beneath them, who was – as Damien already half-expected him to be – once again without a heart.

It was the last thing Damien saw as the wind blew from an open window and pushed the door shut.

**~o0o~**

**_Other Notes:_**

_1. I used the alternate spelling "Cimaron" instead of "Shimaron" because I felt it sounded more like a business empire than a country._

_2. Antoine should be considered OOC in this story. I don't remember him very well, but I know that he wouldn't be as gossip-hungry as he was portrayed here. I didn't want to use any of the main characters because they would surely demand a side story of their own, which would ultimately make this story longer._

_3. This was intended as a one-shot, but the more that I tinkered around it, the more that it started to _mutate _into a full blown multi-chaptered story. _

_4. I didn't intend to publish until I was done, but I'm riding the entire end-of-the-world mania, and I wanted to post something before the world exploded or something like that._


	2. Part 2: When Hearts Collide

**Heartless**

**by: gkeeper91**

* * *

_Disclaimer: Kyou Kara Maou is not mine. _

_A/N: Damien was an original character who first appeared in my story 'Soul Hunters,' who, as the story progressed, developed something of a relationship with Saralegui. _

_Dedication: For __**kerii-tan**__**,**__ who gave me an excuse to write more about this pair, and who made the accompanying image used here as the book cover (Please see my profile for links to other images related to this story.)_

_Genre: AU, School Life, Fantasy, Mystery_

_Warnings: Slash. Gore. Dark Themes. _

* * *

**Part Two: When Hearts Collide**

~o0o~

He was nobody's child.

It was not to say that he was all alone in the world. No. He had an older brother, whom he rarely saw for the past two years. He had an uncle, whom he had sworn never to speak to ever again. And parents – he had them once, too – until they were both taken in a cruel fire that consumed everything he knew of his childhood. Save for his parents' deaths, there had been nothing much to mourn. The Victorian house he had lived in with his family had never felt like home anyway, and he was not particularly sad to see it burned to the ground.

The universe he had been born into had one bright, shining star – his brother – and it was around the latter that everybody else's lives were built. He grew up feeling himself swept away by the surge of his brother's existence, completely overwhelmed by the older boy's brilliance. He had often wondered what would have happened if he had stopped struggling to keep himself afloat amidst that insurmountable force that was his brother. He wondered if he would simply fade away, like a passing dream. He wondered if his parents would miss him, or if they would even notice that he was gone.

He had known what heartbreak was from a very young age. He had felt it with each glance, every embrace, with each word of affection that were never thrown his way. He had seen it with every smile, every pat of the head, every word of adulation that were accorded his brother but not him. From a young age, he understood what he was. He was an outcast. Someone on the outside looking in. Somebody that did not belong. A nobody.

Of course people – those who had known him as a child – would disagree with this notion. They would say that he had been part of a perfectly normal family. They would opine that he was loved, that he was recognized, that he belonged. In all fairness, there was never a question of his being a part of the family, for he was his father in miniature. The resemblance, however, was nothing but physical.

He had the same sandy brown hair that he kept short regardless of the trend, with unruly strands that stuck up stubbornly at the end. He had eyes the color of the earth, although they were sometimes so dark that they were almost black. He was tall, like his father, but he had taken up the habit of slouching down, as though he would soon fold in on himself and disappear in the background. He had an air of petulance about him, like a sulking child, giving the impression that he was younger than he actually was. He hardly ever smiled.

He had always been serious, even as a child, a fact that did not endear him to his elders. He could be agreeable if he wanted to, but he preferred to keep himself away from people. Some would say that he was detached, that he could not be counted on to care for others. The more perceptive ones would say that he had become a guarded, cautious boy as a result of his upbringing. Some would say that he was just an independent young man, a free soul who would never allow himself to be tied down.

The simple truth though, was that he had grown too terrified of getting close to anyone and run the risk of having his heart broken for the hundredth time.

~o0o~

**VIII. Suspect**

~o0o~

Damien's life at Saint Rose eventually fell into a pattern in the days that followed. In the daytime, he attended classes like the other students, although he never listened to the lectures or expended an iota of effort in the required schoolwork. By mid-afternoon, when all the students are given free time to study on their own, Damien would start jotting down notes of any event that took place, or any new information that had come his way, or ideas that had occurred to him while he continued to ponder the mysteries of the case.

By the end of his first week, Damien had already filled in an entire notebook with various guesses and theories that he sincerely hoped would shed some light on why and how the victims were murdered. Antoine had become his primary source of information, although it took Damien some time to sort fact from fiction, as well as the relevant from the immaterial, from his classmate's stories.

On his fifth day at Saint Rose, Damien found himself contemplating the details of the case yet again. He had chosen a rarely-used table at the study hall, while he jotted down random notes of his observations and tried to reconcile it with what he already knew. There were precious few noteworthy things to write about, so that after five minutes, Damien lounged back on his chair, left with nothing to do but review his casebook for the thousandth time.

He stopped under the section headed by the word, WHY_, _where he had written every person who could have possibly had a hand in the murders, including their probable motives. At the top of the page, Damien had scribbled:

_Fiancées – Financial? _

From his many conversations with Antoine, Damien had discovered more about the two victims' fiancées. Apparently, the women the victims were supposed to marry had both incurred a ludicrous amount of debt that needed to be settled at the soonest possible time, leaving the possibilities open for one of the oldest motive in the book – money. It could be argued, given everything, that the victims were killed for…well…for their money.

But there was a glaring hole in this theory, and any idiot could spot it from miles away. No matter how Damien looked at it, it just didn't make any sense for the girls to have killed either Belal or Ranjeel _before_ their marriage. Besides, both women had an alibi, for they happened to be in an entirely different country when their fiancés were killed.

_'And that's that,' _Damien thought, reading the next line.

_Business-related? Personal vendetta? Saralegui?_

Damien paused, eyeing the name and the large question mark he had written beside it. Saralegui's file – which had been sent to him three days before – didn't turn out to be of as much help as Damien had initially hoped. Much of what it contained – Saralegui's family history, educational background, and other standard information – were things he'd already gleaned from Antoine. In addition, the file, when merged with Damien's observations, made an inconsistent picture of the guy Damien now considers as his main suspect. It turned out to be more confusing than enlightening overall, that Damien had trouble letting go of his (mostly unfounded) suspicions that Saralegui was indeed the murderer.

But if Saralegui _was_ the perpetrator, how and when did he manage to do it? The why was easier to understand, but the other questions left Damien frustratingly without any feasible explanation. Saralegui was conveniently away from the island when the victims were murdered. It was a perfect alibi. Watertight, as Antoine would put it.

Still, there was the possibility that Saralegui had ordered someone to do the dirty work for him. If this were true, the most probable suspect would be—

_Belias?_

Damien had drawn a larger question mark beside his professor's name. Where was the man when the victims died? Antoine said that he was also away from the school. Where did he go? Now that he had gone on leave again, where was he?

But of course, there was another possibility. As Damien had so unluckily experienced on his first night at Saint Rose, Saralegui must have compelled someone to do it. He must have used what supernatural powers he possessed to convince somebody else to dispose of his two rivals. It would be so like him to do something so cold, so calculated, so…so…

"Heartless," Damien muttered softly to himself. The word fit Saralegui perfectly – in most aspects at least. Although, there was still a tiny bit of information that continued to bother him…

Damien scratched his chin as another set of data floated to the front of his mind. According to Antoine – and the file agreed with this story – Saralegui hadn't always been like he was now. Upon his entry to the school, the boy had been the quintessential honor student. He was charismatic and he seemed to enjoy being the center of everybody's attention. The change – according to both the file and Antoine – came with Saralegui's involvement with a much younger student over two years ago. The relationship didn't end well, and the student was eventually expelled from the school for unknown reasons.

Antoine speculated that it was Saralegui who engineered the entire thing. Rumor had it that the student – a well-liked character in all social circles – had wanted to end the relationship, and acting out of spite, Saralegui had used his connections to the school board to have the former thrown out. Surprisingly, the file corroborated this bit of gossip, although Damien had a nagging feeling that there was more to the story than that.

Damien put that idea on hold as he flipped to the next page, to the section where the word CARDS was written.

_Matthew. Mark. _

The murderer's calling cards. But what do the names mean? Matthew and Mark. The gospel writers? Damien's brow creased with concentration. Could this be biblical? Some sort of code? A taunting clue that could lead to the next victim? He sat up more straightly. If there was going to be another murder, how should he know who the target was going to be? What pattern was there? And then there was the method used to kill the victims – hearts taken from people's chests. No blood. No signs of struggle. Damien turned the words repeatedly inside his head before scribbling at the bottom of the page:

_Human? Non-human?_

At the last word, Antoine's tale came back to him. The goddess in the forest who steals people's hearts. It was a convenient excuse, a pretext that anyone familiar with the legend could use to their advantage. The killer must be, in some way, acquainted with the local legends. But why _this_ particular tale? Why this particular method of killing? Why Belal? Why Ranjeel?

Damien asked himself the questions over and over again, and without fail, his thoughts turned – as they always did – to only one person.

_Saralegui._

He was the one who stood to gain the most with the victims' deaths. He was the one who had the means to commit such a perfectly indecipherable crime, all his alibis be damned. Damien had checked and counterchecked the case file and there weren't any viable suspects for miles around. Saralegui was the only one who could have done it. So _how _did he do it?

Damien snapped the notebook shut in disgust. He wasn't going anywhere with any of his theories, especially when every single one of them involved Saralegui. He wondered whether Shinou was right – that Damien was just biased toward the guy because of what the latter did to him when they first met. Was he being unfair? Was he looking at this case the wrong way?

"Hey, that's him."

"Really? _Him?_"

"Yeah, can you believe it?"

The whispers – uttered too loud to even qualify as such – pierced Damien's consciousness, alerting him to take evasive action. He gathered his books and stood up before the group of muttering students could draw near. This was one of the things that had become part of his life at Saint Rose, and again, Damien had the same person to thank – or curse rather.

_Saralegui._

After that first day, Damien had become the center of more unwanted attention, and once again, the source of his unwarranted popularity was his involvement with the infamous Saralegui. Their brief afternoon tryst a few days before had apparently gotten the attention of everyone in the school, and had sparked the imagination of a preposterous number of people Damien didn't even know.

It was all so ridiculous, but hey, what did he expect from living in an isolated boarding school in some godforsaken island? There were very few things that could be done to amuse oneself, and gossiping was one very convenient way to pass the time. It was something that Damien learned to tolerate, even though he couldn't understand how everyone around him could be so cavalier about it. The air around the campus was so casual at times, that Damien had difficulty reminding himself that _two _murders had occurred within its walls in just the past three months. Nobody seemed to share Damien's anxiety that a possible serial murderer was on the loose, mingling amongst them, ready to spring upon his next victim…

_Saralegui._

Damien exited the study hall, sidestepping another group of students who were loafing by the stairs, and made his way outside. Hisses and pointed looks followed him as he passed, and he tried very hard not to be affected by it. He distracted himself by thinking of other unrelated events, but after a few seconds, his thread of thought returned to what was fast becoming the sole object of his growing obsession.

_Saralegui._

For all his misgivings about the boy, Damien hadn't tried to go near him again after that afternoon in the greenhouse. He hadn't exactly found a way to counteract the godlike powers of the boy's eyes, and although he had a course of action in mind, he wasn't particularly keen to put his theory to the test. That encounter in the greenhouse had been a close call, and in any case, he didn't want to lose any more of his memories – or reveal a vital piece of information about himself against his will.

Damien continued to amble away from the campus, past the main gate and the wide grassy area where he had his first Biology class. He went on walking for some time, down toward a tree-lined path – the very same road that he saw Saralegui and Belias emerge from, when he had overheard them talking. He had no particular destination in mind when he went down the trail, so that it came as a surprise to him when he finally took notice of his surroundings after a few minutes, and found that he had ended up on the steep incline leading right into the entrance of the forest. A sign to his left declared what Belias had reiterated during class: The forest was out of bounds.

Damien examined his surroundings in bemusement. He knew that he wasn't supposed to be there and that there was no reason for him to go any further. But his feet remained firmly planted on the ground, and he felt an incomprehensible desire – a yearning – to enter the forest. He stayed still for some time, battling with these unusual feelings, knowing at the back of his head – at that part where logic and prudence reigned – that it was unreasonable to follow these urges. He really shouldn't be here.

A cold wind blew toward his face, bringing with it the fresh scent of grass and trees and a fragrant something that could be a wildflower. Damien sniffed, wondering whether he could locate the source of that last alluring scent. He had already taken a step forward when he managed to catch himself. What was he doing? The forest was dangerous, wasn't it?

His thoughts were interrupted by another burst of cold air. Damien could smell the grass again and the flowers too, but there was something else there – a musty smell that reminded him of things long hidden from the light of day. It brought to mind a sinister vision of the forests of old – dark and shadowy and treacherous. Damien shivered and forced himself to step away. He remembered Antoine's tale and for the first time, he wondered whether the legend was true after all. Maybe there really was a goddess in the forest who preys upon mortal hearts. Maybe _she _was the murderer…

Damien had barely started to berate himself for the specious track his thoughts had taken when a deafening noise rumbled from the forest's depths. There was a loud rustle of dried leaves being trampled upon, a crackle of branches being broken and bushes being forced aside, coupled with the stomping of a pair of feet against the earth. Damien inclined his head toward the source of the noise, realizing that somebody was making his or her way out of the forest, running aimlessly from the sound of it – and Damien was directly on this unknown person's path!

Damien's impulse was to get out of the way, but for some reason, his body wouldn't obey the orders his brain was screaming at it. He wanted to move, to step away from the path at the very least, but he just _couldn't_. It was as though he was frozen in shock, which was utterly impossible because there wasn't anything mildly alarming around him. At least not at that very moment.

That was about to change.

Damien braced himself for whatever was charging recklessly toward him. The cacophony of rustles and crackles and other disturbing noises became louder and louder, until—

Someone burst free from the bushes, literally hurtling out of the forest, face concealed behind crossed arms. Damien didn't even have a few seconds to take a good look at this person, but he saw enough to recognize who it was. His heart quickly sunk at the realization. There was no mistaking that long, waist-length blond hair. Damien would recognize it anywhere.

_'Saralegui!' _Damien thought in astonishment.

What on earth was going on?

~o0o~

**IX. Alternative**

~o0o~

_BAM!_

Damien stifled a grunt of pain as Saralegui barreled toward him, clearly unaware of his presence. Damien stumbled back at the sudden impact, his arms automatically wrapping around the other boy's body. He tried to steady himself while supporting Saralegui's entire weight but his attempt ultimately failed, and together, they collapsed into a tangled mess into the ground, flattening shrubs and grass and flowers as they tumbled down the slope.

Damien's thoughts were running wildly the entire time. What was going on? What was Saralegui doing here? What was he running away from? Then his eyes drifted back to the forest, and from a momentary break in the underbrush, Damien thought he saw something… Was that a hand that reached out from the shadows of the woods? Was that a girl perched on the branch of a tree? Was she leering at them from the darkness? Was she—?

The wind gushed onward with escalating force, snapping the plants and trees back into place, like the shutters of a window closing fast. Then the wind abruptly changed, sucking air inward, giving the overall impression that an explosion had just taken place within it. Damien tried to see what was happening, but at the same instant, something soft and bright, like a hemp of fine golden threads, whipped across his face, obstructing his vision. He soon recognized the offending object as _hair _– aninordinate amount of it – and after a confused moment, he pegged it as belonging to a certain blond. The very same person he had been avoiding for nearly a week now, and who – after all the falling and tumbling and rolling down the dirt that they had just been subjected to – had ended on top of Damien _of all places_!

Damien took a second to take stock of what just happened. The fall had knocked the air out of him, and even as he tried to regain some semblance of sanity over the situation, he realized wryly that nothing of that sort was going to happen any time soon. At least not while he was with someone like Saralegui. Damien tried to get up, but Saralegui – who looked down at him after some time, seeming enormously surprised at finding Damien there – pushed Damien down roughly, using his weight to pin Damien against the ground.

"What on earth are _you_ doing here?" Saralegui demanded in a harsh whisper. His glasses hang loosely at the tip of his nose, baring the full intensity of his amber eyes.

Damien tried very hard not to panic. He threw the question back, "What are _you _doing here?"

Saralegui's eyes narrowed into tiny slits. "Were you following me?"

"Of course not! I—"

Damien didn't get to finish what he'd been about to say. Saralegui glanced sharply above them, then he crouched low, his entire body pressing flat against Damien's. His hair flowed over his shoulders, tickling Damien's cheeks, prompting Damien to squirm in discomfort.

"Shut up and stay still," Saralegui warned in a nearly inaudible voice.

"Why—?"

"Shut up or I _will_ kill you!"

Damien found himself complying. It went against his better judgment, but there was just something about the expression on Saralegui's face that conveyed quite clearly that he was genuinely worried. Besides, Damien could feel Saralegui's chest against his own, and he was well aware of the thunderous hammering that was the boy's heartbeat. Damien couldn't tell whether it was due to nerves or mere physical exertion. Maybe a little bit of both, he decided. Saralegui was breathing hard too, and the part of the boy's face that was squashed against Damien's neck was sticky with sweat.

They stayed stock-still for what felt like an eternity. Damien strained to listen to whatever it was that had Saralegui so anxious, but he couldn't really concentrate. Not with the warmth of the boy's body against his own, or the scent of the boy's _hair _that somehow filled Damien's mind with various inappropriate thoughts…

Damien frowned. He breathed in through his mouth to avoid more thinking, but then he caught the taste of something that didn't belong…something with a metallic tang… Damien moved his head a little, and from the corner of his eye, he spied a spot of scarlet somewhere below Saralegui's left cheek.

_'Oh no,' _Damien thought in dismay. _'Not this.' _What could possibly be causing this vision? Damien fidgeted in discomfort, unsure how to get himself out of this situation. He wanted to ask Saralegui a question, but he didn't know if the unseen danger had already passed and whether it was alright to start talking again.

He was about to risk it, but then Saralegui stirred, lifting his head just enough so that he could examine their surroundings. What he saw must have satisfied him, for his posture loosened somewhat. Damien could feel the boy's muscles unraveling and his heart rate slowing down.

"Damn her," Saralegui muttered softly. His lips had barely even moved that Damien wasn't even sure if the boy had spoken at all. Then Saralegui's gaze moved down, his eyes boring into Damien's. "You again! What business do you have here?"

Damien breathed and forced himself not to look away. Blood was dripping from the side of Saralegui's face, and it was so incredibly real that Damien was tempted to believe for a second that the boy was actually wounded. He shuddered. He was fairly sure that if he were to cast his gaze further down, he would find an empty hole right at the spot where Saralegui's heart should have been…

"Uh…" Damien began uncertainly, focusing his sight on Saralegui's forehead. "Sara…?"

"What?" Saralegui responded irately. "You better have a good expla—"

"…are you hurt?"

Saralegui stopped in midsentence, looking taken aback at the question. He blinked once – then twice, then he only stared blankly at Damien.

"You're not bleeding?" Damien went on. "Anywhere?"

Saralegui shook his head, and as soon as he did, the disturbing image dispelled, like a vanishing mirage. Damien sighed with relief.

"What are you…? Why are you…?" Saralegui seemed baffled, unable to articulate his thoughts. The animosity had all but disappeared from his face, leaving only curiosity and confusion.

Damien cleared his throat. "Uh…is it okay to move now?"

Saralegui got off him in response. He sat back on his heels, tucking a handful of hair back against the lobe of his ear. A twig stuck out awkwardly at the top of his head, trapped between tresses of more blond hair. Damien noticed for the first time that the boy was wrapped in a white coat, which now sported several flecks of brown dirt and lime-colored grass stains. There were spatters of mud all over the boy's knee-length boots, prompting Damien to think that Saralegui must have been somewhere near a body of water at some point…

Saralegui didn't speak for a while. He looked self-conscious…and maybe just the teeniest bit bewildered. Then as though he realized that he was acting so out of character, he scowled at Damien.

"What are you doing here?" he repeated. "Do you make a habit of following people around?"

Damien straightened up too, crossing his legs, shaking blades of grass and dried leaves out of his jacket. "I wasn't following you," he said honestly. "I just wanted to get away from the campus and I…I happened to end up here."

Saralegui eyed him dubiously. "Haven't you listened to Belias? No one is allowed to go into the forest."

"But you did," said Damien, struggling to keep the accusatory tone to a bare minimum. "What were you doing there?"

Saralegui was frowning magnificently, which suited him quite well – better than the fake smiles at least. "It's none of your business what I do with my time," he snapped. "Stop asking stupid questions."

Damien knew that he was probably pushing his luck by even responding to that, but he just couldn't help himself. He said slowly, deliberately, a not-too-distant memory tickling his mind, "You were here too, that first night. I _saw_ you. You came from _here_…"

Saralegui's expression had turned sour.

Damien pressed on, "This was what you wanted me to forget, wasn't it? You didn't want anyone to know that you've been to the forest."

He knew that there was something not completely right with that statement as soon as he uttered it. Come to think of it, Damien didn't believe for a second that Saralegui would get punished for breaking a school rule. It wasn't as if the boy even cared about such a minor offense. No, it was more than that. Damien tried to think back to what he knew so far, eventually zeroing in on a particular conversation he had eavesdropped on during his first day at school.

"No, not everyone," Damien corrected himself, his eyes tapering with comprehension. "You didn't want a _particular _person to know."

An oddly closed expression came over Saralegui's face, and Damien had the impression that the boy was thinking of several things all at once at breakneck speed.

"It's Belias right?" Damien continued, knowing with certainty that he had hit the mark. But there was still something that he didn't understand. From what he'd seen, Belias seemed to be the type who'd let Saralegui off the hook for a transgression like this. Unless…unless the offense went beyond simply strolling into a forbidden place…

Damien thought long and hard about what he was about to say. Then making up his mind, he ventured, "You didn't want Belias to know that you've been meeting a girl inside the forest?"

_'Bingo,' _Damien thought at the stunned expression on Saralegui's face. Now if he could just find the connection of these recent events to the murders…

"What…did you just say?" Saralegui asked, his eyes flashing dangerously, interrupting Damien's thoughts.

Damien recoiled, and it took him a few seconds to pinpoint what had startled him so. Saralegui's eyes had _literally_ flashed, as though there were fires lit from inside them. As he continued to gaze at the face in front of him, he realized that Saralegui's eyes were_ shining_, a bluish sort of color seeping into them, overwhelming the gold.

Damien swallowed hard. So _this_ was what had given him that sensation of being blinded. This was perhaps the precursor to Saralegui's unnatural ability. Damien struggled to keep his composure. As all-powerful as the boy had seemed, there must be a limitation to what he could do. Damien thought he had found it – the chink in Saralegui's armor that would perhaps make the playing field even for both of them. It was so simple that he had to berate himself for not realizing it right after that afternoon in the greenhouse. Direct eye contact, Damien deduced. It was a condition Saralegui needed to establish before his eyes could work. Which meant that for as long as the boy was wearing his glasses, Damien could look at him with relative assurance that he wouldn't be hypnotized again.

Damien didn't even stop to think about his next move. As quickly as possible, he leaned over, using a forefinger to flick the glasses up the bridge of Saralegui's nose, covering the boy's eyes completely. Damien resumed his position in the next instant and glared at the boy.

"I told you not to use your eyes on me," he said in sharp rebuke, sounding braver than he actually felt.

Saralegui blinked in surprise. Damien's sudden movement seemed to derail him for a second, and it was enough to calm him down. The anger melted out of his features and gave way to another vacant stare.

"So you did," Saralegui murmured, more to himself than to Damien. His glasses glinted in the sunlight, concealing his eyes from view. The edges of his lips curled upward. "Well, I'd have to think of an alternative then, shouldn't I?"

Damien didn't like the sound of that. "What are you talking about?"

Saralegui ignored him and got to his feet in one sinuous motion. He flipped his hair back across his shoulders and fixed Damien with a long, pondering look. From beyond the trees, a distant bell chimed the beginning of another class.

"Let's go back," Saralegui said, turning away, "or we'll be late."

Damien got up too. A dozen questions were still burning inside his head, and he wasn't about to let this opportunity to have them answered elude him just like that. "So I was right?" he persisted, taking long strides to catch up with the other boy. "You were meeting someone in there?"

"Don't be silly," Saralegui replied without even glancing at him. "No one lives in the forest."

"Obviously," Damien said sarcastically. "So is she another student? You picked a pretty odd place to meet."

"No one's there."

"Someone was," Damien insisted. "Which reminds me – is it alright to leave her behind?"

"There's no one there. And if I were meeting anyone secretly, what made you think that it would be a girl?"

Fair question, Damien thought, recalling the shady rumors revolving around Saralegui and Belias, as well as the former's involvement with another student of the same sex. He was sorely tempted to ask the boy about it, but he refused to be sidetracked into an unrelated discussion.

"Because I saw her," Damien said simply. "There was a girl in the forest."

Saralegui's steps faltered. He stared at Damien. "You _what_?"

Damien gazed eagerly back at him and repeated, "There was a girl back in the forest. That was who you were running away from, right?"

Saralegui didn't answer but merely regarded Damien with a calculated expression. "I see," he said after a moment. "You're from _that_ type of agency. You people finally caught up, haven't you?"

The intensity of Saralegui's gaze was unnerving, forcing Damien to drop his eyes to his feet. "What are you talking about?"

"Oh please," Saralegui scoffed, resuming his pace. "I know what you are. You aren't exactly the first investigator to be sent here, although this is the first time that they had enough sense to deploy someone undercover."

Damien didn't know what to say to that, and Saralegui didn't talk to him again until they reached the gate. To Damien's aggravation, a group of students were hanging around the entrance, prattling about their family's latest material acquisitions. They all stopped when they caught sight of Damien and Saralegui.

At the malicious expressions being thrown their way, Damien had to wonder what they must appear like. The state of their clothes alone gave the impression that they had been tumbling in the hay – which was literally correct but was oh so wrong metaphorically. Saralegui still had that twig stuck to his hair, and although he looked as impossibly stunning as always, there was no denying the fact that he was also unusually…disheveled. Damien realized too late that he should have asked Saralegui to go on ahead so that they wouldn't be seen together – especially considering that they both seemed like they had just surfaced from a particularly…strenuous…activity.

He grimaced at the mental picture evoked by those words, and even as he tried hard to keep the embarrassment at bay, the blood rushed to his face all the same, betraying his agitation. It was the worst possible reaction he could have possibly displayed in that scenario. One of the students leered at him and whispered something to his companions, drawing smirks and dirty looks from the others. Damien felt the strongest urge to throw a punch at the students' sneering faces.

"Are you okay?" Saralegui asked. He looked the exact opposite of what Damien was feeling, even seeming like he was enjoying himself for some reason. His expression reminded Damien of somebody – it was just how Shinou would look like, just seconds before he springs up some kind of mischief upon an unsuspecting prey.

Damien mulled over his chances of escape before Saralegui could do something that would potentially blow his cover – or worse, ruin his life forever – but Saralegui must have sensed what he had in mind, for he reached out to take Damien's hand. Damien took an instinctive step away, but the other boy merely stepped closer to compensate. Saralegui's smile was inconceivably _too_ warm.

"What are you doing?" Damien said in an undertone, mindful of a dozen eyes boring a hole into his back. They had just gone past the gate and were currently in full view of more students who were all starting to flock into the yard, all busily making their way to their next class. This, however, was obviously the least of Saralegui's concerns. Far from it, it seemed to be what he had been aiming for. His smile broadened at Damien's evident distress.

"An alternative," Saralegui said in response to Damien's question. Then before Damien could react, he leaned up to press his lips against Damien's cheek, making Damien's skin tingle, setting his entire body ablaze with combined mortification, surprise, and something else that he couldn't quite identify. Saralegui quickly pulled back, but Damien didn't miss the impish grin that lit the boy's features, like a little child who was about to play a particularly cruel prank on another.

"I'll see you again tomorrow," Saralegui said cheerfully, in a voice that was loud enough for everyone within a miles' radius to hear. Damien gawked at him in horror, and catching the departing boy's look of vindictive glee and the wicked smile that twisted his lips, Damien realized that he had just experienced Saralegui's warped brand of revenge.

Damien huffed with annoyance – both at Saralegui and at himself. He had just circumvented an obstacle – Saralegui's hypnotic eyes – and yet here he was, falling into yet another trap. And this was worse, for this method that Saralegui had chosen to subject him to – this alternative that the boy had begun to use on him – was infinitely more dangerous than combating the commanding power of his eyes.

Damien shook his head at the feeling that he was in over his head on this one. He sighed miserably as it dawned upon him that he was probably fighting a losing battle with someone as devious as Saralegui at the opposing end.

He was – wherever he looked at it – truly and completely screwed.

~o0o~

**X. Alliance**

~o0o~

The rumor that Saralegui was having an affair with the transfer student roared like an out-of-control wildfire the following day. Everyone seemed to have an opinion on the subject matter, and depending on who was asked, people were either shocked at the improbable relationship or – in the case of some of the girls in the class – just absurdly happy that Belias was probably back up for grabs.

"I don't know where people get all this information," Damien grumbled to Antoine as they stepped out into the yard the following morning. They had a few minutes left to kill before their next class, and upon Damien's suggestion, they left the study hall in order to avoid the stares and whispers of the gossiping students. "How did they even know about that afternoon during my first day?"

"Don't look at me!" Antoine said defensively. "I didn't tell anyone anything!"

Damien accepted that with some reservation. He knew Antoine had a tendency to blab, but he also knew this wasn't the time to point that out and risk antagonizing his main source of information. Instead, Damien commented, "I guess it couldn't be helped. I just don't get why people are making such a big deal out of it."

"Because it's Saralegui," answered Antoine simply. "It's just so out of character for him to be…er…befriending anyone, especially someone like you."

Damien didn't know which popped out of that sentence more – the meaningful stress the boy had placed on the word 'befriending' or that last bit about Damien's character. He chose to react on the latter first.

"Someone like me?" Damien echoed with a raised eyebrow. What on earth did that mean?

Antoine flushed. Obviously, he hadn't intended to say that out aloud. "Now don't get mad. It's just that…well…"

"What?"

"Don't take this the wrong way, okay? Everyone's just interested in who you were, given what you did in Biology, and especially what happened…uh…yesterday." Antoine paused, perhaps waiting for a first-hand account of what really took place the day before. But when Damien remained tight-lipped, the boy went on, "So people just started asking about you and researching your background…"

Damien shrugged that off. That shouldn't be a problem. Someone at the agency should be on it to see that there wouldn't be any holes in his made-up identity. "So they all think that I'm beneath Saralegui's notice?"

"Something like that, yeah." Antoine smiled sheepishly at him. "Sorry."

"It's nothing," said Damien. "Besides, it's not as if Saralegui's _befriending _me. I get the impression that he hates me actually."

"It didn't look that way," Antoine contradicted. "Besides, he asked you over that time, didn't he?"

"_That_ again," groaned Damien, knowing quite well that his classmate was referring to that afternoon, when Saralegui had invited – no, commanded – him to the greenhouse. "I told you it wasn't an entire afternoon – it was only a few minutes."

"But you talked, didn't you?"

"About _flowers_," Damien said with emphasis, omitting everything else. "For Biology, remember?"

"And?" Antoine demanded, as though they hadn't been through this conversation before. A week later and he was still hung up on that incident.

"And he offered me tea," Damien said patiently. "I honestly thought he was going to poison me."

Antoine grinned, seemingly mollified at the notion that Damien wasn't enjoying his time with Saralegui. "He gives you that feeling, doesn't he? But that's just the tip of the iceberg where he's concerned. You haven't seen what he's really like when he hates someone."

"Oh and _you _know?"

"I told you, didn't I? I testified against him when the police were investigating Ranjeel's death. Not one of my best decisions, but well…I don't think he's ever forgiven me. You saw how he looked at me that time." Antoine shuddered and tilted his head inquiringly at Damien. "But don't change the subject. What about yesterday afternoon? I heard that you were together again."

Damien was ready with a response, knowing fully well that the truth wasn't something that anyone would believe in. Sometimes, he had difficulty absorbing it himself. Even as he rehearsed saying it aloud inside his dorm room last night, everything – meeting Saralegui by chance near the forest and all the bizarre things that followed – sounded too flimsy even to his ears. Fact was indeed more often stranger than fiction.

"We were working on that project," Damien lied convincingly. "All that fauna and flora stuff. Isn't that due tomorrow? Did you and Leila finish everything already?"

"Yes, yes, we're nearly done," Antoine said dismissively, refusing to be distracted from the topic. "So Saralegui asked you out again, huh?"

"Uh no," said Damien, reinforcing his lie with another. "We agreed to meet. It's nothing big really."

"But even so," Antoine insisted. "Saralegui's not the type who'd tolerate someone for an extended period of time, and believe me, an afternoon is already long by his standards. And _two _afternoons at that! He must really li—"

Antoine froze, his words abruptly cut short, as though he had been struck dumb. Damien immediately recognized _that_ expression, and searching for the source of the change in his companion's demeanor, he turned and found himself squinting against the glare of a certain someone's lavender-tinted glasses.

"Hello," came Saralegui's artificially pleasant voice. He was leaning casually against the wall near Damien's classroom, unmindful of all the students peering out to gawk at him. "I've been searching for you everywhere, partner. I was beginning to think you've forgotten."

"Forgotten?" Damien parroted dumbly. What on earth was he talking about?

Saralegui beamed. "That I'd see you again today."

"Oh! Of course not," Damien said quickly, composing himself mentally and physically, heightening his guard and rearranging his features into an equally pleasant smile. "You need some help compiling the papers for the project?"

Damien was praying hard that Saralegui would take the hint, but to his utter dismay, the boy merely cocked his head sideways and asked innocently, "What project?"

_'Damn you_,_'_ Damien thought venomously, a vein ticking at the side of his head. Aloud, he said, "For Biology. Belias would be returning tomorrow, right? Maybe we could ask him about that strange _thing_ in the forest. He's something of an expert on the ecosystem around here, isn't he?"

The mention of Belias's name did the trick. Saralegui's smile didn't waver, but his eyebrows rose slightly in a very subtle indication of annoyance.

"Oh _that_ project," he conceded with an affected air, "We're far from done. You never got to take down notes the last time, remember? But I must say – you were a _very _attentive listener."

"You were a _very _fascinating teacher," Damien said, intentionally going overboard with the flattery.

"I know," Saralegui drawled. "Anyway, I was hoping to get to talk to you today, but I couldn't seem to find you anywhere."

"We aren't exactly taking the same classes, you know," Damien pointed out.

"And we might never be, considering your performance in your classes so far. One might say that you weren't interested in your studies at all, which leaves one to wonder what exactly you were here for in the first place…right?"

Damien refrained from scowling. There wasn't going to be any end to this if they continued in this vein. With as much poise as he could muster, he reached for Saralegui's elbow and quickly steered him away, mouthing an apology at Antoine as he went. His companion – who had been listening raptly to his and Saralegui's conversation – seemed unwilling to disappear. But he complied after throwing a quick glance at Saralegui, diving through the classroom door with such remarkable speed.

"What did you do?" Damien muttered exasperatedly as soon as he and Saralegui were out of earshot. "You spoke with all my professors and asked them about me?"

"Oh, are we revealing our methods now?" said Saralegui, smiling faintly. "You go first then."

Damien shook his head. He moved to release Saralegui, but the boy caught his hand and held it in his. Damien raised an eyebrow. A group of girls had peeked out of the door to stare at them, whispering and giggling shamelessly.

"Come with me," Saralegui said, ignoring the fuss around them. It sounded like an order more than an actual invitation, but Damien couldn't care less which it was – he wasn't about to do it. No. Not today.

"I can't," Damien resisted, "I have a class—"

"Stop avoiding me," Saralegui warned, eyes flashing ominously.

"I'm not avoiding you—"

"You're not a very good liar, are you?" Saralegui cut him off, leaning closer until the tip of his nose was nearly touching Damien's. "Are you really sure you want to do this? I haven't completely ruled out making a scene right here if it would help you make up your mind."

Damien gritted his teeth. It took him just one infinitesimal second to determine that yes, Saralegui would _truly_ make good on his threat.

"Fine!" he snarled under his breath. "But if I get disciplined for skipping a class, I'd take you down with me."

"It's not as if you care about _classes_. And besides, there are still ten minutes to go before the time."

Damien glared at the boy. Saralegui, however, merely smirked back at him. "Look alive," he whispered. "We're supposed to be having an affair." And without waiting for a response, he tugged Damien along by the hand, asking merrily, speaking loudly for the benefit of all the watching students, "So where do you want to go later? There are more plants at the northern portion of the island—"

Damien wasn't listening. He could see several students gawking after them with less than flattering stares. Antoine had peeked around the doorway to give him a significant look. He would surely be pestering Damien later on for details of this third rendezvous.

Damien felt his face getting hot. He wasn't used to attention. It wasn't that he disliked it – it was just that he didn't know how to handle it when it was thrown his way. He wasn't faring so well right then, but he could do nothing but bow his head to hide his embarrassment.

Saralegui seemed to be savoring his humiliation. "You feel okay?"

Damien gathered his nerves. "Of course," he said, unwilling to show any sign of weakness. He held his head up, gripped Saralegui's hand tightly and walked ahead, taking the lead. "Where do you want to go?"

"Anywhere you want to." There was something so unusual about the way Saralegui said that. It was friendly – _too_ friendly. "I just want to talk."

Damien spared his companion a wary glance. "How about we go somewhere private then?"

"Sure."

This time, it was Damien who led the way. They must have made quite the sight together, walking hand in hand along the corridor, like they weren't just at each other's throats a few days back. Damien endured the never-ending stares and mutterings from all the students they passed along the way, until eventually, they ended near the stairwell, which was thankfully deserted at this time of day. Damien released Saralegui's hand and dropped all pretense of self-control.

"What on earth are you doing?" he demanded.

Saralegui blinked innocently. "What are you talking about?"

"Oh, come on," Damien said. "This isn't you."

Saralegui's face darkened momentarily, but he recovered in a second, his lips curling into a salacious smile. "Well, I did tell you I was trying out an alternative."

"I don't have time for this," Damien muttered. "Say whatever you want quickly. I have classes—"

"—which aren't exactly your priority," Saralegui finished. "Isn't your job more important?"

"You're grasping at straws," Damien said, crossing his arms. "You don't know anything about me."

"True. But I could guess enough to ensure that you don'tfinish what you came here for."

Damien frowned. "What do you think did I come here for?"

"The murders," Saralegui replied without even batting an eyelash.

"And assuming you're right," said Damien carefully, looking around to make sure that they will not be overheard, "what do you want to do about it?"

Saralegui looked him in the eye. "You need my help."

That was totally not what Damien was expecting to hear – especially from the very person he had classified as his primary suspect. Damien took a moment to consider the matter before deciding that he needed to buy more time. He said, "We can't discuss this here. If you want to talk, we can do this later—"

Saralegui regarded him distastefully. "Stop trying to run away."

"I wasn't. I—oh fine!" Damien threw his hands up in surrender. "Fine! I _am _running away – and you can't blame me. You're not exactly…" – he struggled to find the right word – "_safe._"

"_Safe_?" Saralegui repeated, his features torn between disgust and amusement. "You think I'm dangerous?"

"You _erased_ my memories," Damien reminded him in a flat tone.

"That wasn't entirely my fault."

"_Not entirely your fault_?" Damien exclaimed indignantly. "You made me forget an entire night! And for what? To hide the fact that you were out of the school in the middle of the night with that gir—?"

It was so sudden that Damien didn't even have the time to blink. In a single abrupt motion, Saralegui had pushed him back against the wall, clapping one hand over Damien's mouth, reducing the rest of Damien's question in a series of muffled protests.

"What was that for?" Damien sputtered as soon as he managed to peel Saralegui's hand off his mouth.

"This is getting terribly one-sided," Saralegui said pleasantly, although his tone radiated with venom. "I'm starting to feel that you know too much about me. A bit unfair, isn't it, _Damien_?"

"This isn't a competition, Sara," Damien replied, attempting to push the boy away. "Two people have died. It's possible that more would be dying if this doesn't stop."

"I _know,_" Saralegui said empathically, standing his ground. "And I can help you."

"But why would you do that?"

"Why shouldn't I? I'm sure you were told that Belal and Ranjeel were my distant cousins?"

"I was also told that you hated each other's guts."

"I don't deny it," said Saralegui. "But I'm not doing this for them. This is for the company."

"For the Cimaron Group?" Damien asked skeptically.

"The Chairman is about to retire. The Group wouldn't choose a successor unless this case is cleared up."

"And any chances of _you_ being the successor?"

Saralegui's smile was enough affirmation. Damien narrowed his eyes, but at the back of his head, he was already weighing the merits of having the boy as a possible ally. Maybe he could capitalize on this situation to find out what really happened to the two victims and discover whether or not Saralegui was the perpetrator. What was that quote about friends and enemies—?

"Keep your friends close and your enemies, closer," Saralegui recited, as though he had read Damien's mind. "Do you want to make a deal? I could give you information – more accurate than the rumors Antoine had been feeding you."

Damien took a moment to answer. From a distance, the hollow sound of a bell ringing reached his ears, signifying the beginning of another class.

"It's time," Damien said. "Let's talk about this later." Saralegui seemed like he was about to disagree, so Damien headed him off, "Later. I can't be absent again, or I'll draw too much attention."

Saralegui looked disgruntled. "How can you even think about that now? Isn't solving the case more important to you? Don't you want to get this over and done with already?"

"What I want," Damien said levelly, trying to recover the upper hand in this rapidly worsening scenario, "is not to blow my cover—"

"So you finally admit that you're an investigator?"

Damien cursed himself and strived to ignore the smug look on Saralegui's face. He tried again, "What I want is to talk about this later. You could either take it or leave it."

He tried to go with the same tone of finality that Shinou had used on the headmaster on that fateful meeting several nights ago. He hoped to get that same reaction, to get that same level of obedience that Shinou had extracted from the client. But one glance at Saralegui's face told him that it wasn't going to be so.

To his surprise though, Saralegui accepted his terms. "Fine," the boy said. "I'll see you later then."

Damien nodded, already itching to get away. He was aware of several students approaching their current location, probably on the way to another classroom, and he knew that they wouldn't be alone for very long. Damien tried to edge away, not at all too keen at being seen at such close quarters yet _again _with the school's token ice prince – but Saralegui had other ideas. His grasp on Damien's shoulders tightened, and he pressed onward, cutting off Damien's escape.

"I have to go," Damien said uneasily.

"You don't want to be seen with me?" Saralegui guessed correctly.

"It's just…better…this way," Damien reasoned. "It's a little complicated explaining to the others why they keep seeing us together – I mean, haven't you heard the rumors? And I couldn't keep using that Biology project as an excuse."

"Is that so?" Saralegui grinned and basically draped himself over Damien. His hands glided up Damien's neck, looping easily around Damien's nape. When he spoke, his breath fanned against Damien's face. "So how about I give you another reason?"

Damien could sense what was coming, and the very thought of it caused the heat to rise quickly to his cheeks. Damn it. Saralegui was doing this on purpose. He was _teasing_ him, _flirting_ with him – and Damien was falling for his antics, like soft putty. And there wasn't anything Damien could do about it – or was there?

"Stop doing that," Damien scolded, trying in vain to edge away.

"Doing what?" Saralegui echoed with that same innocent fluttering of his eyelashes, his lips a mere millimeter away from making contact with Damien's skin. He made a very appealing picture, and it was only the knowledge of the boy's hidden nature that gave Damien the willpower to resist the temptation to just lean down a little and—

His thoughts broke off as Saralegui planted a soft, feather-light kiss on his lips. As with the first time that it happened, Damien's skin tingled, and a bolt of electricity flowed from the point of contact, to his gut, down to his toes, wiping everything from his mind. Then logic returned to him, and he remembered what Saralegui had told him yesterday. He had to remind himself that everything – the warm gestures, the unsolicited touches – were all part of Saralegui's strategy…

"_This_ was what you meant before, huh?" Damien asked grimly. "When you said you were trying an alternative?"

Saralegui smiled. "There are two ways to get what you want from someone – against their will, or of their own accord."

"And you think you could get what you want from me in _this_ manner?"

Saralegui hoisted himself up. He was so close that Damien could see himself reflected on the boy's lavender glasses. "Well," Saralegui asked, smiling coyly, "is it working?"

It was, actually, but Damien wasn't about to own to that. "You tell me," Damien said, stooping down to meet Saralegui halfway. "Did you get what you want from me yet?"

"Not yet," Saralegui admitted, his lips nearly brushing against Damien's. He pulled back at the last minute, drawing away completely. "But I will." His smile broadened, and he looked so pleased with himself. "So, I'll see you later, then? Damien?"

_'Oh darn it,' _Damien groaned bitterly, and all thoughts of the wrongness and pettiness of what he was about to do vanished from his head. He was getting tired of playing Saralegui's game, but he was getting wearier of being the one who was always on the losing side. He scoffed at himself for that last thought. Who said that this wasn't a competition again?

Damien cursed himself for being such a pushover, and taking in the mischievous gleam in Saralegui's eyes, he decided that he needed to change it _now_. If this was how Saralegui wanted to play it out, Damien wasn't going to back down. But if he were to outplay Saralegui at his own perverted game, Damien needed to be quick and resolute.

"Later," Damien agreed, pulling Saralegui back into his arms. Acting swiftly before Saralegui could even have the sense to use his eyes in defense, Damien swung the boy's glasses up, pinning them temporarily at the top of his head. In the same motion, he drew Saralegui closer by the waist, using his other hand to cup the blond's cheek and incline his head at the proper angle.

"W-What are you doing?" Saralegui managed to get out, and Damien was pleased to hear a hint of uncertainty marring his voice.

"It would just get in the way," Damien explained before he bent down and kissed Saralegui firmly on the mouth. He held it for a moment, reveling in the power he now held over the other boy, no matter how short-lived that may be. It took Saralegui exactly three seconds to get over his surprise and put up a token of resistance, but by then, Damien was deepening the kiss, finding to his chagrin that he was rather enjoying himself. The feeling lingered even after he had detached himself from the boy, that he was promptly beset with a maelstrom of conflicting emotions.

"What…are you doing?" Saralegui breathed out, his voice exuding with cold fury. Damien wondered whether it was from being kissed so unceremoniously or from being bested by a perceived adversary.

"You asked for it," Damien answered in a low tone, stepping away and releasing Saralegui completely. The sound of muttering voices nearby indicated that they had been seen by no less than an entire class of students, but for the first time, Damien didn't care _at all._

Saralegui, on the other hand, stood as stiff as a board before him, obviously enraged at having been outmaneuvered like that. His eyes however – when Damien finally raised his gaze to the boy's face – were still fairly normal. If you could call a pair of infuriated eyes that were currently glaring daggers at you "normal", that is.

Damien decided that he had done enough to anger a guy who was perfectly capable of ordering him to jump off a cliff, for one day, but still he couldn't help himself. Raising his voice so that everyone heard him, he added, "I'll see you later then, Sara."

Damien left Saralegui standing like a statue by the stairwell. He savored his fleeting success for a brief second before he turned his attention to more pressing matters. The buoyant sensation that came with actually getting the better of Saralegui was quickly dissipating, only to be replaced by a plummeting sense of trepidation. Already, he was dreading the time, wishing with all his might that 'later' would never _ever _come.

And yet it did.

~o0o~

**XI. Visit**

~o0o~

"Later" – in Saralegui's terms – turned out to be during dinner hour and the meeting place turned out to be Damien's room. Already tired of being ogled at since that morning, Damien hadn't gone down to the dining hall at all. Feigning a terribly crippling migraine, he had shaken off Antoine and had retired early to his bedroom, hoping to get at least a good night's rest. He hadn't seen Saralegui anywhere, and just when he thought that he had successfully avoided him altogether, he heard a sharp knock at his door.

Opening it with an extreme sense of foreboding, Damien was met with a bemusing sight. Saralegui was there, smiling in his usual fashion, holding aloft a pot of fleshy stems dotted with familiar blood-red flowers. Bleeding hearts, Damien remembered with a horrible taste in his mouth.

"For you," said Saralegui, shoving the flowers toward him. "You like this, don't you?"

"I…" Damien floundered for the right words to say. It didn't exactly seem polite to point out that no, he did _not _like them at all. The tiny scarlet blossoms reminded him too much of murder and stolen hearts, and a case for which he still didn't have a satisfactory solution. Then his brow scrunched up with bewilderment at the unexpected gift. "Er…flowers?"

Saralegui stepped inside the room without waiting for an invitation. He was in a crimson jacket over a plain white shirt – a parody of the colors of a bleeding heart blossom. "You should hang that somewhere. Maybe over your window. It likes sunlight."

Damien still hadn't recovered enough presence of mind to absorb the fact that Saralegui was actually in the room with him, chatting with him – about plant propagation of all things! He stood for a few seconds by the open door, contemplating the consequences of shutting it close and leaving him alone with the enemy. An enemy, moreover, who had an unfair ability to force people to do what he wanted, making Damien's own abilities seem pathetic in comparison. The prospect was not very appealing.

He must have been standing wordlessly for far too long, because Saralegui looked at him then. And as if he knew exactly what Damien was thinking about, the boy retreated a few paces and pushed the door close. Saralegui smiled and retrieved the flowers from Damien's limp hands.

"Let me place that somewhere for you," he said.

Damien stared around him helplessly. This didn't bode well for him at all. He was alone, and he had nothing to defend himself with. Well if it came down to a physical struggle, he might have a slight edge there. If Saralegui tries to ensnare Damien with his eyes, Damien could perhaps subdue him. Yes, pin him down maybe. Blindfold him and bind him and—

"So," Saralegui went on as he made his way to the window right in front of Damien's study table, "have you made any progress so far?"

"Progress?" Damien echoed, confused at the sudden change of topic.

Saralegui glanced at him, his glasses shimmering. Damien stared back warily.

"Your case, detective," Saralegui said brightly. "Did you find out anything new?"

"I thought you were supposed to give me information?"

"Yes, but it's supposed to go both ways. Haven't you ever heard of reciprocation?"

Damien crossed his arms. "Haven't you ever heard of concession?"

Saralegui didn't answer. He turned his attention to the window frame, examining it closely.

"Well?" Damien asked irritably. "Why don't you go first? What do you know about the murders?"

"You don't trust me, do you?"

It sounded rhetorical, but Damien couldn't stop himself from replying, "Would this be a good time to bring up that entire erasing-my-memories thing?"

Saralegui shrugged, shifting the pot to one hand in order to draw the study chair back. He took his shoes off and stood atop the chair, leaning forward slightly with the clay container held in one hand. A thin wire extended from the sides of the flower pot, apparently for the purpose of hanging it from higher places. Damien watched everything curiously. He hadn't noticed that there was a place to hang things from on his own window.

"The windows were all built the same way," Saralegui explained, as though he had read Damien's mind. "They made the sills wide enough so that you could place things here and still close the windows. There should be something above the upper frame to hold a pot in place – or anything else you'd like hanging by your window. I have a wind chime in mine."

The information was irrelevant, but Damien found himself making a mental note of it. It was the first personal thing he had learned about Saralegui. Wind chimes. How…normal. And incomprehensibly cute.

Okay, he was veering off course. Damien compensated by glowering at the boy. "You said you'd help me, but could I trust you?"

Saralegui glanced at him askance. "Are you afraid of me?"

"How can I be sure that you're not just leading me on with some non-existent information? That you're not just biding your time to catch me off guard and plant a false memory inside my head? That you're not just planning to lead me astray or worse – to a false suspect?"

He had uttered everything in one breath – all the worst case scenarios he had hatched up inside his head – that he was soon gasping for air. Saralegui tore his eyes off the window frame to stare incredulously at him.

"Wow," Saralegui remarked. "Too much honesty could kill you, you know."

"Is that why you killed Belal?" Damien spat out, spurred on by his frustration at his fruitless attempts to uncover the truth. "And Ranjeel?"

"You think _I_ did it?" Saralegui asked. "Why is every bad thing that happened always my fault?"

Damien's resolve wavered at the resentment in Saralegui's tone, and it was only through a stupendous effort that he managed to press on, "Did you ask anyone to do it then? You're pretty close with Belias, aren't—?"

"Leave Belias out of this," Saralegui snapped before he could finish the question. Damien had clearly struck a nerve.

But he wasn't done – not by a long shot. "Did you use your eyes on him?"

Saralegui was looking at him in utter disbelief, as though the very suggestion was improbable, offensive even. Or maybe this was the first time that he had been interrogated like this, with his secret out in the open.

"Well?" Damien prodded.

Saralegui gazed back evenly, and when he spoke, it was with a tone of passionate sincerity that Damien couldn't have doubted his words even if he tried. "I would never do that to him."

"What about other people?" Damien asked, ignoring the surge of displeasure that flowed out of nowhere at the boy's response. "You can force people to do anything with your eyes, correct?"

"Force?" Saralegui repeated indignantly. "Of course not. I merely make a _suggestion_ that – fortunately for me – most people tend to obey. It's hardly my fault that they're so _susceptible._"

Damien scowled. "It's not right to strip someone of his free will, no matter how _susceptible_ he is."

"When you say 'he'," said Saralegui shrewdly, "do you mean yourself?"

"I just like my memories the way they are."

"Well, I guess you have nothing more to fear. My abilities work well only with the weak-willed, and in varying degrees, depending on their personalities. You could say that some people are more resistant than others." He gave Damien an appreciative look. "You, for instance."

Damien felt his pulse racing at the implied praise. He shoved the feeling down before it could color his perception and his feelings. "And it's a very convenient excuse to keep using them to get what you want, isn't it?" he accused. "Who else have you used your eyes on?"

"Why do you care so much?" Saralegui parried, turning back to the window frame. He found what he was looking for and finally managed to secure the bleeding hearts in place. He leaned back to survey his handiwork.

Damien spared the flowers a disdainful glance, deciding that he would have to bring them down later. "I was trying to establish whether you have ever asked someone to do something – something that you wanted done and yet you can't do yourself."

"What exactly are you trying to say?" Saralegui said, his voice rising.

Damien decided to just go for it. "Have you ever ordered anyone to commit murder? Belal and Ranjeel's murders in particular?"

_Murder. _

The word seemed to reverberate inside the room. Damien tapped his foot and waited for an answer. Saralegui looked down at him from the window sill, his face shadowed with anger.

"You—"

If Saralegui had been about to curse him, Damien wouldn't know because the rest of the boy's sentence was drowned by a loud howl, as a strong wind gusted forcefully from outside, slamming the windows shut. The newly-installed pot swayed back, nearly touching Saralegui's face. Saralegui drew back in surprise, retreating maladroitly into the chair, tipping it over. Damien's mind numbed to a halt as several things happened all at once.

The chair Saralegui was perched on began to fall, taking the boy with it. The wind rattled the windows, sounding eerily like a wild animal was clawing at them from outside, craving to get in. Then incredibly, as though everything was a calculated move and not some natural occurrence, the flower pot swung outward in an arc and smashed the glass. The wind surged in triumphantly, pushing Saralegui further out of balance.

Damien cried in alarm and he saw Saralegui as though in slow motion – heart-less and bloody once more, arms thrown out in a useless attempt to steady himself. Damien froze for the space of one or two seconds before he felt his body move, and with a burst of energy, he raced forward to break the other boy's fall.

It ended as soon as it started. The wind stopped, leaving only a deafening silence in its wake. Damien stared in disbelief at the resulting destruction around him. That didn't feel like an accident at all.

A soft groan alerted him that he was with somebody else, and with some consternation, Damien glanced down at the boy he held against his chest. He had caught Saralegui as the chair tumbled down and they both fell – side by side with their limbs tangled together – to the floor. Saralegui stirred, bringing up a hand to touch his head. He seemed altogether fine – except for the blood on his cheek and the empty hole on his chest.

_'This again,' _Damien moaned internally, feeling a pervasive sense of déjà vu. This was becoming quite a thing, wasn't it?

Damien fought down the desire to vomit. He might as well have been holding a corpse – a bloody, mutilated corpse – for all the good that it did. He wanted to let go and put as much distance as he could between them, but common sense was telling him that it wasn't real. It was just another frustrating, inexplicable vision. He closed his eyes and breathed through his mouth. He could taste something metallic at the tip of his tongue. Almost like real blood.

Damien cringed.

"Damien?"

"Don't call me that here," Damien muttered in reprimand. He opened his eyes cautiously, only to find that Saralegui's cheek was still tainted with blood. He had one detail to be thankful for though – at least the boy's chest was completely back to normal.

Damien straightened up, helping Saralegui into a sitting position. The blood didn't disappear, and Damien soon felt a strong urge to wipe it off himself. He reached out without thinking, feeling the sticky red substance against his fingertips, clinging to his own skin. That was when he realized that the blood was real. He felt bewildered for a second, and then it all clicked. The broken window…

"Oh." He couldn't help but laugh softly with relief. This wasn't a vision. Saralegui must have injured himself when the window had been smashed into a thousand pieces. "You're _really _hurt."

The blood stuck to his fingers. Damien stared at his hand, and suddenly, it all felt so ridiculous to him that he just had to throw his head back and laugh some more.

"_What_ is so funny?"

Damien's shoulders shook with suppressed mirth. "Sorry. It's nothing."

"You think watching someone getting hurt is hilarious, don't you?" Saralegui said acidly.

"No, it's not like that. I…" Damien trailed off. Something in the other boy's face brought forth an impossible idea, and on instinct, Damien asked to confirm, "Wait a second – are you actually…embarrassed?"

Saralegui looked furious at the very idea. He shrugged Damien's hand off, pulling himself to his feet in one graceful movement. There were glass shards clinging to his jacket, and he was barefoot. Damien remembered that the boy had discarded his shoes a moment back, before he climbed on to the chair.

"I'm leaving," Saralegui announced. "Good luck with finding out what really happened to my dear cousins."

"Hey wait!" Damien scrambled to get up. "You can't go out like that."

"Like whatexactly?" Saralegui demanded, his voice rising way past the volume that Damien was accustomed to. All traces of the gracious, smiling boy who had entered his room some minutes ago had vanished, and Damien felt like he was witnessing a portion of the real Saralegui – someone who was human enough to feel annoyed and embarrassed as he was right then – for the first time. Damien felt less threatened seeing the boy in this manner.

"You realize that you're bleeding?" Damien pointed out. "And you don't have shoes."

Saralegui seemed to return to his senses. He touched his cheek and felt the blood trickling down his chin. Damien could see the dislike intensify in the boy's eyes, and he thought he could guess the cause of it. Damien had seen him lose his poise, which had perhaps humiliated and angered him.

"Go sit on the bed," Damien said firmly. "Careful where you step – there are broken glasses all around."

Saralegui hesitated and gave him a defiant look, like a little child who didn't want to obey a task his parents had ordered him to do. Damien was faintly amused at the thought of what the boy must have been like when he was young. Saralegui must have been quite a handful and Damien could just envision the headache the boy must have given his parents. Damien sobered down when he recalled that Saralegui was an orphan – well, as good as one, considering that his mother already abandoned him. For the first time, Damien felt a torrent of empathy for him. He knew what it must feel like to be all alone. Unexpectedly, he felt a little twinge of regret for having resorted to a more aggressive approach just to draw the information he needed.

"Sara," Damien said gently, partly to assuage his guilt for provoking the boy earlier. "Go sit on the bed. I'm just trying to help, okay?"

"You want to help me?" Saralegui was back in control of himself. He took his place at the edge of the bed and gazed back at Damien.

Damien rummaged inside his pocket for a handkerchief. "Here," he offered. "You're still bleeding."

Saralegui accepted, pressing the cloth against the side of his face. Damien, meanwhile, gathered the broken pieces of glass and dumped the remnants in the trash. He righted the chair, picked up Saralegui's shoes and shook the sharp splinters off them.

"That was some wind, huh?" Damien commented, examining the damage.

Saralegui cast a dark look at the broken panes. "I don't like the wind."

"Is it always like that here?" Damien asked conversationally, trying to chase away the hostile atmosphere.

"Not always."

"I see." He studied the boy's face, wondering what to say or do next. Saralegui seemed deep in thought. He appeared to be listening for something. When Damien couldn't take the silence anymore, he asked, "Sara? What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Saralegui murmured with a distracted air. His eyes flitted to the window, where the bleeding hearts swayed peacefully. Outside, the branches of the trees stirred to a passing breeze.

Damien frowned. "Does it hurt? Your face?"

Saralegui dropped his hand, and Damien was glad to see that there was no more blood. "Great," Saralegui muttered, stroking his cheek. He stood up. "I'd better go."

"Uh wait," Damien blurted out, "I…I'm sorry for…for asking all those questions. I just wanted to—"

"But it's your job, isn't it?" Saralegui interrupted. "Why should you apologize for doing it?"

Damien sighed and admitted, "That isn't usually me. I don't know what came over me today."

Saralegui actually smiled at that. "I believe that. You seem nice…when you're not accusing me of murder, that is."

Damien winced and said in a little voice, "I'm not accusing you of anything."

"You kind of did."

"I…" Damien groped for words to say. In the end, he asked straight out, "Sara…did you have anything to do with the deaths?"

Saralegui's lips pressed into a thin line. "But that's your job, isn't it? Why should I make it any easier for you?"

Strangely enough, Damien felt himself smiling. "Fair enough." He bit his lip, uncertain how to continue. "Uhm…do you want to make it easier for me? Your offer to work together…does that still stand?"

"I think I would have to reconsider," said Saralegui airily. "Find me tomorrow if you want to talk. I'll be at the court."

"The what?"

"I have P.E. before lunchtime. I'll be at the tennis court."

"What about Biology before that?"

"Classes would be cancelled," said Saralegui. "Belias wouldn't be there yet."

Damien chose not to question that. Where Belias was concerned, Saralegui appeared to be incredibly well-informed.

"Okay," he said, feeling strangely…eager. Honestly, what was happening to him, agreeing as easily like that? A suspicion that he was being controlled crept at the forefront of his mind, but he knew that that wasn't it. As far as he could tell, he was acting on his own will. So why on earth couldn't he keep his distance from Saralegui?

"What's wrong?" Saralegui asked, perhaps noting the dissatisfaction on Damien's face.

"Nothing," Damien murmured. And then realizing that he still had Saralegui's shoes in his hand, he stooped down and placed them carefully in front of the boy's feet. "Here you go."

Saralegui merely nodded, slipping his shoes in. He departed without another word, leaving Damien with a set of confused thoughts and a slew of even more perplexing feelings.

~o0o~

**XII. Game**

~o0o~

"Is it true?" Antoine demanded as soon as he spotted Damien the following morning. He had been on his way to the tennis court when Antoine accosted him out of nowhere, spouting all sorts of wild accusations that Damien had been keeping secrets from him. "Did Saralegui really go into your room last night?"

It was Damien's sign that his morning was about to go downhill. Already, several students were looking at him as though he had done something incredibly brave or wrong or stupid.

"That was nothing," Damien said, downplaying the incident. "We just…talked."

Antoine was predictably dissatisfied with the answer. "That's it? Come on. What's really going on with you two?"

"I'm not really sure," Damien said honestly. He was supposed to be investigating Saralegui, wasn't he? This was part of his job, wasn't it?

Antoine huffed. "It's fine if you don't tell the others, but aren't we friends? Come on – tell me already!"

"I really don't know," Damien said apologetically. "Saralegui's really hard to figure out."

Antoine seemed to accept that, but that didn't stop him from probing for more. "But what about Belias? What happens when he returns?"

Damien had been thinking about that, and before he could stop himself, he blurted out, "Good thing he's not back yet." He caught Antoine's surprised look. "What?"

"How did you know that? That was announced at dinner and you weren't there."

"Oh. I heard it from Sara."

Antoine gaped at him, jaw dropping open. "He told you? And you called him Sara. Wow."

Damien opted not to remark on that, and Antoine kept up a flow of comments as they continued walking across the yard. Damien wanted to shake Antoine off before they reached the court, but he couldn't find a way to do so without being so obvious or being unnecessarily rude.

"—don't think this is a good idea," Antoine continued as they trudged past the buildings. "Saralegui himself is dangerous enough, but if you add Belias into the mix…" Antoine sighed heavily. "Belias is _always _all over Saralegui. You'd have to tread _very_ carefully around him. Once he hears everything you've been doing with Saralegui—" He stopped abruptly and groaned. "And there he is again."

They had just turned a corner toward a wide open space that Damien had never been to before. It was a flat spacious area, divided evenly into two well-kept tennis courts. A group of students were currently converged around the fences of the first one, watching an ongoing match. One of the players – Damien noted with a twist in his stomach – was Saralegui.

Damien stopped to watch. Saralegui's hair was piled high at the top of his head, tresses of gold tumbling down the sides of his face, past his ears, and falling short of his shoulders. He was clad in a light purple sweatshirt, rolled carelessly up to his elbows, and denim jeans that fit his slender form snugly. He had a racket in his right hand and a ball in the other. It was his turn to serve.

Saralegui's movements inside the court, as with outside it, were infuriatingly flawless. His body swayed and weaved without fault as he returned the ball to the other side of the net, making it seem as though he was dancing. He was smiling, but Damien could see the rapt concentration behind the boy's eyes. He had the air of somebody who wasn't used to losing – and didn't plan to do so at all costs.

"What on earth is she doing?" Antoine muttered beside him.

Damien started to ask whom his companion was referring to, but then his eyes wandered off to Saralegui's opponent, and he immediately understood – it was Leila.

"Oh god," Antoine groaned. "She must've challenged him to a fight! How could she! So stupid, stupid, stupid!"

Damien mentally agreed, and judging from the extreme frustration on Leila's face, he knew that she must be thinking it too.

"Game and match," the umpire cried after Leila failed to return the last ball, "to Saralegui."

There was a modest round of applause from the watching students – the outcome obviously didn't come as a surprise to them. Antoine seemed infuriated by the sound, and he stomped past the audience, toward the closest part of the fence to where Leila was sitting. The girl was visibly exhausted. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, as though she was still trying to catch her breath. Damien followed his companion, arriving just in time to hear Antoine burst out with exasperation.

"What are you up to, Leila? Have you gone mad?!"

The girl's head shot up, surprised. "Antoine!"

"What happened? Why were you playing against _him_?_"_

Leila scoffed, catching herself. She replied, sarcasm coating her voice, "Well, I don't know. Maybe because this class is called Physical Education and we have the freedom to play a friendly match with whoever we like."

Friendly? It didn't seem that way to Damien, and Antoine clearly shared the same sentiment. "You challenged him, didn't you?" he accused. "You can't lie to me!"

"This isn't any of your business," Leila said brusquely, grabbing her racket and standing up. "Go away."

"Hey, wait up! I'm not done—oh!"

Antoine had frozen again, like a machine abruptly tuned off. The source of his speechlessness had approached, twirling a racket with one hand.

"Hey," Saralegui greeted in a syrupy tone, beaming at Damien. "You came to pick me up?"

Damien had to breathe deeply to compose himself. "Of course," he said, smiling agreeably in return. "Should we get going?"

"Just a second," Saralegui said, turning to Leila. "Shall we end this then? I'd hate to keep my partner waiting."

Leila merely nodded, but Damien noticed that her grip on the racket tightened considerably.

"Wait," Antoine blurted out, "aren't you done already? Leila—"

"It's a three-set match," Saralegui explained. "There's one set left."

Leila scowled. "_Two_ sets."

"_One_ set. I'd win the next one." The way Saralegui said it sounded as though he was declaring a universal truth. "Although I doubt there's anything to be said about winning against a girl."

"Then you shouldn't have picked on a girl in the first place," muttered Antoine, who seemed to have gathered all his courage to force the words out of his mouth. He looked determined, but also very, _very_ scared. Damien felt a mixture of pity and admiration for him.

"Then take her place by all means," Saralegui said, unfazed, flipping his hair and gliding away. "It wouldn't make any difference."

Antoine was rooted to the spot for a few seconds, just staring at Saralegui's retreating figure. Damien wanted to say something – an advice or a warning or a word of encouragement – but he couldn't decide which would be more appropriate in this instance. Besides, before he could get any word out, Antoine had already moved. The boy appeared like he was acting on autopilot as he entered the court, grabbed the racket from Leila's hand, and strode belligerently to face Saralegui. Damien followed.

"A-Antoine!" Leila protested, looking astonished yet pleased. "Hey! What are you doing?"

The boy didn't answer. As Leila stepped forward, perhaps to prevent her childhood friend from doing anything rash, Damien threw out an arm to stop her.

"James?"

"I think you should let him do this," Damien advised. Leila looked dubious but she stayed put, worrying her lip as the game started to unfold. The rest of the students, who were following everything with unabashed interest, muttered encouragements under their breaths. It was clear whom they were all rooting for.

But it soon turned out to be the most painful game Damien had ever watched in his life. He had played a little tennis himself, although he had long since given it up. But he still remembered the rules, and he still knew enough to recognize a truly skilled player when he sees one.

He was watching one right then, and unfortunately for Leila and for everybody else, it wasn't Antoine. The boy himself was doing great given the circumstances. _'It wasn't that he was bad,'_ Damien decided after a moment, _'His opponent just happened to be _too_ good._' Still, Damien was a bit surprised that Saralegui had _this_ particular side to him. The boy didn't exactly strike him as the sporty kind—

The wind blew, a burst of cold air that rattled the branches of the nearby trees, putting Damien instantly on alert. He was half expecting it to happen, but he was nonetheless very much disgusted when it did. It was the same image. Saralegui was there again, a moving, breathing corpse-like version of his normal self, with an empty hole on his chest. There seemed to be more blood than usual, dripping liberally down Saralegui's torso, pooling around his feet…

Damien forced himself to keep looking, trying to commit every detail to memory. He hadn't been able to figure out why he kept seeing the boy in _that_ manner, but he knew somehow that it was important.

Damien continued to gawk at the boy, not even noticing that he had been staring unblinkingly for a good minute. Saralegui glanced at him after a while, looking inexplicably confused and angry at the attention. That slight distraction cost him, for at that precise second, the ball came whizzing across the net, rocketing straight at his head. Damien saw the surprise in Saralegui's face, and then he saw something else for the very first time – panic.

The next things happened in rapid succession that Damien could only recall a confused jumble of images afterwards. Saralegui raised his racket instinctively to block the ball, but it wasn't enough to curb the force of the impact. He tried to move to avoid an impending collision, but he faltered, stumbling on his own feet. He cast out an arm in a last ditch attempt to regain his balance, but it was no use.

Saralegui fell.

Damien heard a muffled oath followed by a cry of pain, and he just knew that Saralegui must have injured himself somehow – probably a sprain at the least. Instinct was telling him to run toward the fallen boy – and if it were anybody else, he would've already done so – but Damien pulled back, guessing that Saralegui wouldn't appreciate any sort of help in this situation.

"Are you okay, Saralegui?" the umpire called out amidst the noise made by the students murmuring empty words of concern that didn't reach the fallen player.

Damien watched Saralegui, fighting the feeling of distress that bubbled out of nowhere and the guilt of knowing that it was probably his fault that the accident happened. But against his and the audience's expectations, Saralegui quickly rose to his feet. He dusted himself casually, retrieved his racket, and faced his opponent once more.

"Are you okay, Saralegui?" the umpire repeated. "You're not hurt?"

Saralegui nodded. "I'm fine. I'm perfectly fine. Let's continue."

"Too bad," Leila muttered under her breath.

"Don't say that," Damien admonished as the game resumed without further ado. Antoine and Saralegui had carried on from a score of forty-love. The latter had won four games of the set, and prior to his fall, Saralegui was already on his game point. Antoine hadn't taken so much as a single point so far.

"Oh, are you on his side now?" Leila said waspishly. "You're not exactly the first person to fall under _his _spell, but I thought you'd have more sense than that!"

Damien grimaced at the girl's tone. "He was_ hurt_, Leila—"

"No he's not. Look at him."

The girl might have a point, Damien reconsidered after a second. Saralegui was moving as faultlessly as before, giving no indication to confirm Damien's conclusion that he was injured. Damien frowned, considering the boy from where he stood. There was something…odd.

"Forty – fifteen!" the umpire cried to the general applause of the spectators.

Damien perked up, suspicious at this development. Antoine seemed thrilled at finally taking a point that he even made a little victory dance right there on the court. Saralegui looked fleetingly annoyed, but his face smoothed out quickly into indifference.

Damien's brow creased with disquiet. Something had changed. Saralegui wasn't playing at the same level as a few minutes before. Damien's gaze zeroed in on the boy's hand, the one that held the racket. Saralegui had pulled his sleeves down, but as he smashed the ball back with a forehand, the fabric moved and Damien saw that the boy's wrist had swollen to nearly twice its normal size. It was a huge wonder that Saralegui could even move it. What was going on?

For the rest of the match, Damien fluctuated between concern, doubt, and extreme infuriation. The sight of the boy's wrist had him worried, knowing for sure – although Saralegui's face didn't show any trace of it – that it_ must _hurt. Saralegui's lack of reaction, however, made him hesitate to intervene because he couldn't tell whether he wasn't just seeing things again. But most of all, he felt irrationally angry at the boy for giving no indication of his current state. If he was hurting, he could always stop and forfeit the match, right?

_Uh-oh_, Damien thought with sudden insight. Maybe that was it. Saralegui didn't want to forfeit, especially after taunting Antoine and Leila like that. Damien felt more enraged. Saralegui was willing to sacrifice his hand just to save his pride! What normal person would do that? He answered his own question in the next beat, for he now knew one thing with certainty – Saralegui was far from normal.

The game was winding down. Antoine stole two more points from Saralegui, but in the end, the latter came back strong and ended the match with a calculated strike toward the former's blind spot. Antoine was going to lose.

"Game, set, and match!" the umpire declared, confirming Antoine's defeat. "Saralegui!"

The spectators clapped half-heartedly. The end result wasn't surprising in the least, but Damien could see that they had hoped for a different outcome. The crowd was slow to disperse, their attentions shifting to what was now happening after the game's conclusion. Damien stayed with Leila and tried with little success to blend in the background.

"Well done!" Leila cried, throwing her arms around Antoine. "That was better than expected!"

"That actually felt good," Antoine admitted, patting the girl awkwardly on the back.

"It would've felt better if you actually hit him in the face," said Leila, backing away with a smug grin on her face.

"Shhh!" Antoine hissed, clapping a hand over her mouth.

Both Damien and Antoine glanced anxiously at the other end of the court, but if Saralegui heard anything, he didn't give any hint of a reaction. He was already walking away, pausing just long enough to give Damien a look of extreme loathing. Damien flinched.

_Uh-oh_, he thought again. His anger had dissolved and was immediately replaced by a hideous feeling of guilt. It was his fault, wasn't it?

"Uh, I'm sorry but please go ahead," Damien told his two companions, his body poised to run to catch up with the departing boy. It was against his better judgment, but he couldn't help himself. He was helplessly gravitating closer and closer to Saralegui lately.

"And where do you think you're going?" Leila asked, frowning. "James!"

"Leila." It was Antoine who stopped the girl this time. "I think you should let him do this."

Damien heard the words and fought to hide a smile. Nodding gratefully to Antoine, he took off and sprinted after Saralegui.

~o0o~

**XIII. Pain**

~o0o~

Damien caught up with Saralegui at the door of the greenhouse room. He intercepted the boy's arm as it extended forward toward the knob.

"Here," Damien said, opening the door. He tried to smile, but he might have only looked weird.

"What are you doing here?" Saralegui asked softly, not moving. He sounded strained, his already pale face leeched of all color.

"Get inside," Damien said tightly. "Your hand—"

"—is perfectly fine."

"Sara—"

"I'm _fine_," Saralegui snapped, his eyes flashing with annoyance. He stalked past Damien with a disgusted sigh, shutting the door with a loud bang. Damien stood at the same spot for several uncomfortable minutes before he followed inside, not knowing whether he should be thankful that the door was unlocked.

Damien's eyes were immediately drawn to the table atop the gazebo, his forehead crinkling slightly when he found it empty. Where did Sara—oh. Damien hesitated. Saralegui had settled himself by the foot of the gazebo, knees pulled up against his forehead, face concealed behind curtains of golden hair. His left hand was hooked around his knees, but his right hand lay uselessly on one side.

"Sara?" Damien called out.

"Go away," came Saralegui's muffled voice, followed by a sharp intake of breath. "I don't need you."

Damien sighed. His mind was telling him to follow the order, but his body moved before he could make the most prudent decision. For a moment, he did nothing but examine the boy's wrist from a short distance, much as one would inspect a wounded animal that could potentially snap its jaws at you out of sheer pain. Damien swallowed hard, then throwing all caution into the wind, he knelt down and reached for the boy's right hand.

Saralegui's head suddenly shot up. "What are you doing?"

Against his will, Damien pulled back slightly, withdrawing his hand. Saralegui chuckled darkly at the expression on his face.

"Don't do that," Damien chastised, returning to his former position. "I told you not to use your eyes on me."

Saralegui's smile was scornful. "I wasn't going to."

"I just need to see your hand."

Saralegui raised his left hand with a flourish, like a monarch would to a subject who was expected to kiss the offered limb in a gesture of respect.

Damien was not amused. "Your _other_ hand."

When Saralegui didn't comply, Damien stretched out an arm and took the injured hand gingerly, pulling the sleeve back with some difficulty. Damien grimaced at the sight, but Saralegui didn't even flinch. The wrist was swollen and bruised, a dark circle that contrasted horribly with the boy's ivory skin. It was worse than Damien feared.

"It's bad." It wasn't a question, but the way Saralegui said it sounded too impersonal, as though the harm had happened to somebody else, and not to him.

Damien prodded the injured area with a finger, gauging the extent of the damage. "It doesn't hurt? At all?"

He received a shrug in return. Damien hesitated, then before he could change his mind, he added more pressure to the boy's wrist. Saralegui's expression didn't change. "You don't feel this either?"

"I don't, even if you try harder." Then to demonstrate his point, he knocked his hand against the wooden part of the gazebo. "Satisfied?"

"Don't!" Damien cried disapprovingly, snatching the boy's hand back. "_This_ isn't normal."

"Well I'm sorry for not being normal."

Damien fell silent, digesting everything before he finally uttered the one thing that was currently at the tip of his tongue. It was a nagging suspicion that clamored to be expressed. "You…you used your eyes on yourself, didn't you?"

Saralegui considered him thoughtfully. "You think so?"

"Can you please stop being so cryptic?"

"Is that what you want?"

"What I want," said Damien, taking a deep breath, "is to figure you out. Starting with how can you not possibly feel anything with" – he pressed Saralegui's wrist again – "_this._"

Saralegui stared at him for a long moment, regarding him quizzically. Finally, he relented. "Fine. I'd be – how did you put it? – less cryptic, but only _if_ you tell me something in return."

Damien frowned. "You're not in a position to bargain."

"Who said I was bargaining?"

"And you're being cryptic again."

Saralegui laughed. "Okay. I'll tell you something – yes, I used my eyes."

Damien let that sink in before asking, "But how is that possible? Aren't you resistant to that yourself?"

Saralegui sobered down, and a shadow of an emotion flickered in his eyes. "That's exactly why it's more difficult to…to use a suggestion on myself. But sometimes…if I believe it enough…"

Damien felt his eyebrows rising. "You trick yourself into believing something that isn't real?"

"I wouldn't put it so crudely," Saralegui said disapprovingly. "At any rate, I use it only in extreme circumstances – to numb the pain for instance."

"Like now?" Damien asked astutely, turning his attention to the injured wrist. It seemed like a severe sprain, although nothing that he couldn't heal quickly. But the question was whether he ought to be helping Saralegui at this point. The boy knew too much about him already, and Damien had a feeling that it would be the height of foolishness to reveal more. Damien paused, an internal battle waging inside him – the impulse to help a wounded person versus the desire to keep as much of himself away from someone he considers a potential murderer. It wasn't particularly easy for him to just look the other way.

"I could manage," Saralegui answered, startling Damien from his reverie. "I'll have Belias look at this when he returns."

Damien gaped at the boy in disbelief. "But that's ridiculous! You're not planning to leave it like this until then, are you? You should go to the doctor!"

"You're sweet," Saralegui remarked condescendingly. "But it's not really a big deal. I've had worse."

Damien couldn't take in the absurdity of the conversation. Saralegui could have lost his hand – was maybe losing it at that very moment – and yet how could he be so laid-back about it?

"You've always done this when you're hurt, haven't you?" Damien asked quietly.

"You don't approve?"

"It's just…not normal. People experience pain for a reason. It's a natural reaction."

"What's wrong with choosing not to feel it when you have that option?"

Damien sighed. "Take this for instance." He sandwiched the injured wrist between his palms. "This is probably a sprain – you know, a tearing of the ligaments that hold the bones together. If it's minor, it should heal fairly well."

Saralegui looked puzzled at his explanation. He didn't seem to think that it was worth his time, but he humored Damien all the same. "And?"

"This isn't minor, Sara. This looks bad. The ligaments looked like they've been torn off completely – that's considerable tissue damage. This would require surgery." Damien's face was grave. "_And _you still say you don't feel anything?"

Saralegui must have finally caught some of his anxiety, for his smile disappeared and a glimmer of pain flared in his eyes. He breathed deeply, as though some of the ache was starting to seep into his consciousness.

Damien went on, "What I'm trying to say is that pain alerts us to wounds that we should take note of so that we could take the necessary steps toward healing. If you ignore it like this" – he gave the injured area another soft squeeze, and Saralegui recoiled – "you might never notice until it's too late that you're losing something of yourself."

Saralegui raised an eyebrow. "Are we still talking about my hand?"

Damien shook his head in frustration. "You're too stubborn for your own good. You honestly enjoy being a…a…"

"A what?" Saralegui challenged. "A freak?"

"I didn't say that."

"But you're thinking it."

"Now see here," Damien said diplomatically, "I don't want to have to wrestle you into the clinic, so could you just stop being so _difficult_—"

"I'm not going," Saralegui interrupted obstinately. "I told you I'd wait for Belias."

Damien didn't know what else to do. He was feeling so incensed for some reason, and the mention of Belias's name didn't help to keep his temper under control. All of a sudden, he hated Saralegui for making everything so complicated. He loathed Saralegui for relying so heavily on Belias for something that could potentially be harmful to his own health. He resented the casual disregard by which Saralegui had reacted to his warnings.

The intensity of the emotion surprised Damien. He hadn't felt so much hostility for anyone in a very long time.

"You really feel strongly against this, don't you?" Saralegui said, scrutinizing Damien's face.

"It's wrong," Damien said, frowning. "It makes you less of a human being."

Saralegui's laughter rang out, derisive and disbelieving and endlessly amused. "You are so naïve! It's a good thing then that your opinion doesn't matter at all."

At this, something inside Damien snapped, and his piled-up anger and frustrations broke through his flimsy barrier of self-control, raging free. Before he could even give any thought to what he was doing, he clamped his hands over Saralegui's wrist and twisted, hard. The pain must have been unexpected, and obviously much too severe, for Saralegui gasped aloud, his smile disintegrating and twisting into a horrified look. It took him a few seconds to regain his composure, but when he next met Damien's eyes, it was with a glare of utmost hatred.

"What are you doing?" Saralegui hissed, attempting to rip his hand free. "Let go!"

Damien held fast. "Does it hurt? Why don't you stop it then?"

"Stop it!"

"Give yourself a suggestion that it doesn't hurt. That it doesn't feel like your hand is about to come off. Go on."

"Let me go!"

"No."

"LET GO!"

"NO!"

Saralegui's eyes had grown wide. He was gasping for breath, his chest falling with each intake of air. "What," he snarled, "do you want from me? What is it to you what I do with my life?"

Damien blinked. He hadn't really thought about that and now that the question was flung at him so unexpectedly, he realized that there wasn't any point in what he was doing. What did he care what Saralegui did with his abilities anyway? A rational voice – a teeny presence inside his brain that endeavors to explain everything in acceptable terms – was telling him that it was all for the resolution of the case, but Damien wasn't even sure if he believed that anymore.

"I…" Damien licked his lips, struggling to clear the fog that continued to muddle his mind, but he couldn't think of anything and his voice merely trailed away.

"I don't feel anything," Saralegui said, staring back at him with a mixture of despondency and defiance. "Pain, hunger, warmth, cold…anger, affection, sorrow… I can _choose_ not to feel anything, when I _don't _want to feel anything. I don't care if you think it's wrong or unfair. Nothing I did was ever right or fair for anyone."

Damien paused, his anger diffusing as quickly as it had set in. His grip on Saralegui's hand loosened, and with a tremendous rush of guilt, he noticed that he might just have completely broken the boy's wrist.

_Oh good god…_

"I—I'm—"

He meant to apologize, but before he could get the words out, a different voice cut in, sharp and cold and uncharacteristically livid with rage:

"What is happening here?"

Damien didn't need to turn to see who had spoken, for it couldn't be anyone else other than Belias. In the next instant, the man crossed the room and hauled Damien up by the scruff of his neck. Damien felt himself landing painfully on the tiles, and when he managed to prop himself up, he saw Belias bending over Saralegui.

Damien shied away. Things were about to get _very_ ugly.

"What happened?" Belias demanded, voice quivering with fury. He took his eyes off Saralegui long enough to give Damien a deadly glare. "What have you done?"

Damien stood up, not knowing how to explain everything. The sight of Saralegui's limp figure didn't help him any, and it only made him feel so…so _sick _of himself. There was no excuse for what he had done.

"I'm sorry. I didn't—"

He stopped. It was ridiculous to even suggest that he didn't mean to do it, because it wasn't true. He _had_ meant every moment of it. He had hurt someone just to prove a point! What on earth was wrong with him?

The expression on Belias's face sent a tremor of fear down his spine, and Damien repressed a shudder.

"I'm really…I mean…I'm—"

He was interrupted once again, but this time, it was by a softer, weaker voice. Saralegui stirred, his mouth moving with great effort.

"Belias. Leave him…"

Belias's face changed. "Sara?"

"Just let him leave. I just want…"

His voice trailed away into an inaudible whisper, and for a moment, Damien felt an all-encompassing fear that his visions had come true and that Saralegui's heart had just stopped, ripped off his chest by an unseen force. He sighed with relief when he heard Saralegui draw another mouthful of air, although it sounded agonized and…and labored…

Damien felt his stomach clench excruciatingly.

"You heard him," Belias said, his voice taking on a controlled sort of calmness. "Get out."

Damien wanted to stay. His guilt was such that he was now even willing to flaunt his healing abilities regardless of the consequences – anything just to make things even, to stop Saralegui from hurting. But before he could even suggest what he had in mind, he paused at the sight before him. Saralegui had risen to his feet, clinging onto Belias's arm, like a drowning man would to a lifesaver. The man had an arm slung across the other's waist, holding him steady. It took Damien a fraction of a second to know for sure that he didn't like it, and even lesser than that amount of time to realize that he had no business feeling that way. He was getting in too deep with something that he shouldn't be involved in – with someone that he shouldn't really care about.

It was getting too confusing. He had never felt this way before, like he was teetering on the edge of something…like he was traversing an invisible line that he shouldn't – for the sake of everything he knew about himself – ever dare cross…

Damien shook his head. And then before he could do or say anything that would further complicate the situation, he took large strides toward the door, letting it swing shut behind him. As soon as he was outside, Damien started to run, heedless of the stares of the students hanging around the corridors, not even noticing that Antoine was calling out to him from a nearby classroom, not really seeing anything.

He ran until his lungs were about to burst, and when he finally screeched to a halt, he dropped to his knees, clutching a stitch on his side. His heart felt like it was about to leap out of his ribcage and he couldn't breathe. A hundred different images flooded his mind and sounds and half-remembered conversations floated in pieces through his ears, like wreckage from a sunken ship washed ashore.

_"It's just…not normal. People experience pain for a reason. It's a natural reaction."_

_"I'm not going. I told you I'd wait for Belias."_

Damien wanted to block them off, but they still came, relentlessly permeating his mind, invading his senses.

_"It's wrong. It makes you less of a human being."_

_"It's a good thing then that your opinion doesn't matter at all."_

Damien covered his ears tightly in a pointless attempt to forget everything that just took place. No, he didn't want to think about it.

_"Does it hurt? Why don't you stop it then?" _

_"What is happening here?"_

_"Just let him leave. I just want…" _

_"You heard him. Get out."_

The more that Damien dwelled upon what happened, the more that he felt so appalled with himself. He had crossed the line. He was turning into somebody that he wasn't. What the hell was going on? What was happening to him? What on earth had he done?

Damien leaned back, trying to calm himself and clear his thoughts, grabbing onto tiny slivers of logic and holding tight. He was attracted to Saralegui – that much he could admit to himself. The boy was alluring, an unlikely combination of beauty and danger and mystery that had Damien so uncontrollably hooked. But was there something else beyond the attraction? Damien didn't want to know the answer to that. He shook his head once again to rid himself of these thoughts.

Damn it. He shouldn't be doing this. He had a job to accomplish. He couldn't afford any distractions, especially not from a possible killer. Killers, he corrected himself, thinking of Belias. He and Saralegui seemed pretty close…

_'Damn it,' _Damien thought yet again as he felt the pull of an emotion that threatened to encroach upon his entire being. He recognized it and knew it to be the cause of his violent behavior a few minutes back.

Jealousy.

Damien felt more sickened at the realization, and he cursed himself for the third time for the mess he had gotten embroiled in – a mess that had a name, a stunning face, and a shady reputation.

_Saralegui._

Now what on earth was Damien going to do about him?

~o0o~

**_Other Notes:_**

_1. Whew. That was quite long! As I mentioned before, this was intended as a one-shot but I've come to accept that I'm not capable of making short stories. _

_2. There is an accompanying image to this chapter that __**kerii-tan**__ had drawn for me (see links in my profile). Really awesome work!_

_Happy new year everyone! _


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